


Things That Go Bump In Vigil's Keep

by 00Wandering_Ghost00



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, At the same time because I'm that lame, Attempt at Humor, Beware the awful wall of text, Drama, Elf rights, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Eventual break-up, Fluff, He's just as good at it as Alistair is good at being a king, Long-Ass Chapters, Lots of drama, M/M, Mage Rights, May contain pure sadness and goof, Might contain gameplay warcries and dialogue, Minor Character Death, Non-consensual elf-ear bothering, Non-popular pairings, Not-so-competent Warden-Commander, Pining and Whining, Rare Pairings, Romance, Slow Burn, Society is trash even in Thedas, but not so much, not excessively but still, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Wandering_Ghost00/pseuds/00Wandering_Ghost00
Summary: Meet Darrian Tabris, wayward son of Cyrion, convicted murderer and conscripted Grey Warden, best friend to King Alistair and Hero of Ferelden...Though he hates that title. He hates all the unwanted duties and responsibilities that were poured on his two small elven shoulders right from the moment he decided to take a sword and gut the bastard that raped his cousin. He loves his friends he made in the journey though, and the love he found in the very assassin that was hired to end him.A year after defeating the Archdemon and making his bestie the king, Darrian finds himself at the head of the Grey Wardens in Vigil's Keep, and Zevran thousands of miles away. He finds unlikely alliance in another host of misfits though, one of them a rebellious (and ridiculously handsome) mage with a knack for healing and terrible jokes. They keep bumping into each other despite Darrian's best efforts...Fic is written mostly in Darrian's POV, has horrible puns and slightly questionable morals. Our Warden here is not the best at making decisions, really. Read at your own risk!





	1. Small Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian misses Zevran, bumps into Anders on the battlements, gets his ear poked and the next day the merry gang of misfits encounter a company of darkspawn that carry a sort of poison even the well-seasoned rogue Nathaniel haven't seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there!  
> First time fanfic for the Dragon Age fandom, please don't be too harsh when criticizing. Also please note that English is not my mother-language, hence the wonky wording and misused phrases in some places in the fic. 
> 
> Additionally, I'd like to state early on that though the story takes place during Awakening (and some time after), it only loosely follows game events and focuses a lot on the "downtime", where characters aren't treading marshes or saving people from Hurlocks.
> 
> No additional warning might apply here than that you have already seen in the silly tags.

Darrian was staring at the tattered piece of paper in his hands, like he did every single night ever since he got the Warden-Commander’s post at Vigil’s Keep. He and his companions just returned from the tedious expedition to the Blackmarsh, to find a fellow Warden by the name of Kristoff. They found tears in the Veil, a who-knows-how-old bloodmage-turned demon, and the ghost of an angry dragon all needing to be eliminated. Oh, and they also found Justice. The elf thought about writing a response to the letter in his hands, then he dismissed the idea. As he did so many times before. The Warden-Commander found himself reading his lover’s words over and over again, until he got tired of the heartache, and the longing for Zevran’s proximity, and shoved the letter back to his pack. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his strawberry-blond hair, glancing at his bed, and deciding that he rather needs some fresh air. It was barely a few hours until sunrise, and the first thing in the morning would be seneschal Varel’s nagging about meeting some nobles. Darrian wished it all to the Void, and retreated from his quarters to the battlements. Much to his surprise, he wasn’t the only one sneaking away in the shadows. The tall and lanky frame of one of his companions crossed the distance between them, to be startled when he nearly bumped into his commander.

“Nightmares again, Anders?” Darrian asked on a low voice. “Or is it Ser Pounce-a-Lot that keeps you awake?” The young man didn’t answer right away, he leaned to the wall, eyeing the elf suspiciously before speaking. “Both actually.” Something in his tone made Darrian suspicious. “You wanted to escape?” he asked without judgement. Anders laughed nervously. “No, no I didn’t. I actually like it here. I mean... You treat me way better than my former captors.” Darrian felt a pang in his heart. “You really think that you’re a prisoner here?” The mage shrugged. “You told me that being a Grey Warden is not something one can just walk away from. And I had it worse. Way worse than this.” Darrian shuddered. “I can imagine.” Anders shook his head. “No. You can’t.” The elf raised a bronze-red brow. “Why are you so sure?” Anders turned towards him, to meet the commander’s gaze. Golden brown stared into ocean-blue. “Just as I have not the slightest idea of what life in an Alienage can be, you can’t imagine what was like to live in the Circle.” Darrian wanted to protest, but at the same time, he wanted to hear Anders out. “I told you about how many times I tried to escape. About what they did to me as punishment...” The golden brown gaze of the human parted with the elf’s and looked away, far over the towering walls of Vigil’s Keep, back to somewhere he never wanted to return to. “I haven’t told you half of it.” He still felt the shame, the terror, the ever-present dread of committing something that could be interpreted as dangerous, and either get killed on the spot or made Tranquil. No. Despite the empathetic response, the Commander could never imagine what it was like. Darrian took a step closer to Anders, and carefully reached up and turned his face back at him. “I’m sorry.” the elf’s low voice dragged the mage back to the present. “For what? You didn’t do anything.” Darrian gently patted Anders’ face and let him go. “Yet, I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that, just because of who... of what you are.”

Being an elf wasn’t really all that different from being a mage when it came to shitty behaviour towards either party from everyone else. Darrian leaned back to the wall, his armour making a small creaky sound as it touched the stone. “Did I ever tell you how I became a Grey Warden?” he asked, partly expecting Anders to sneak away and leave him alone while he wasn’t looking, but the man was still there. “Oh, I heard stories about you, the great Hero of Ferelden.” Darrian was still sick whenever he heard that title. “Ugh, please omit using that.” Anders made a mock-salute. “As you command, Commander. And no, I haven’t had the luck to hear the story of how you got into all of this.” Darrian chuckled bitterly. “All right. Short version: My wedding was busted by a noble, who then kidnapped my bride along with my cousin and half the female population of our Alienage, then proceeded to rape and murder all of them. I went on a killing spree and freed my cousin, but I came too late. My would-be-wife and another girl were murdered, all the others were violated. And shortly after I escorted them back home, the shem sent the guards to take me to jail. I’d probably have been executed long ago if Duncan weren’t there. The bards probably don’t sing about that part.” He felt Anders’ questioning gaze on him so he went on. “So, even though I’m no mage, and therefore have no knowledge of what it’s like to live in the Circle, I do know what it’s like to be stepped on and taken advantage of just because they can.” Darrian turned again to face the other man. “And believe me when I say that no one will do anything like that to you here. You might think of me as your captor, but I don’t think of you as a prisoner. You’re family. And nobody messes with my family and lives.” Anders permitted himself a small smile. “You know, you’re quite all right. I knew I liked you for some reason.” “You like mad elves, who go on a killing spree to save the damsel in distress?” Darrian grinned. Anders mirrored it and answered “I like people who don’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. Be their ears round or pointy” He reached out while talking, and touched the tip of Darrian’s left ear, that prompted the elf to blush while making a small, somewhat distressed sound. He jerked his head away, and cleared his throat. “I’d like to ask you to stop bothering my ear.” Anders pulled his hand back and crossed his arms. “Right. Sorry.” Darrian made a mischievous grin, and raised his brow. “You didn’t know what touching my ear means in elven tradition?” Anders raised one brow as he listened to his comrade while feeling a bit cold. “You need to bed me now. You marked me as your own.” Darrian’s voice was dead serious, and Anders felt the need for flee. Then a moment later the Commander’s face cracked and he began to chuckle. “I’m just bullshitting you. Ah, you should see your face.” Anders shook his head and nudged Darrian, who was still laughing. “Blighted bastard.” his anger was overshadowed by some light-hearted feeling. “Oh I hope you didn’t pull this prank on Nate yet.” “Nah. He wasn’t so inclined to prod my ear as you were.”

They stood there in silence for a short while before Darrian speaking again. “Where would you go?” Anders was examining his boots and raised his head as he heard the elf’s question. He made a pondering expression, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Anywhere. Thedas is big. Why?” Darrian stepped forward, and looked at the slowly brightening horizon. “Anywhere is good enough for me. You know, sometimes I miss being “just a little elf from the Alienage”, the one I was before this whole Hero of Ferelden business.” Seeing the mage’s doubtful expression, he carried on. “Don’t get me wrong here, I do like that I am respected, and not treated like trash, but sometimes I miss the simplicity of the boring, mundane life.” He sighed, and turned back to his companion. “I guess it’s just a case of ‘whatever I have I want something else.’” “Why are you telling me this?” Anders asked in confusion. Darrian once again stood right in front of him, and pierced his dimly glowing sea-green eyes into the human’s. “Answer me one question: Why do you feel trapped here? This isn’t the Circle. There are no Templars here. As far as my knowledge go, you haven’t been treated badly by any of our comrades or staff members. Or have you?” His concern was genuine, Anders could see that. Yet he himself wasn’t really sure why he wanted to leave, he just felt it. “No. It was quite a shock, really. Being actually treated like a person, not an object of a dangerous nature.” “Then why?” Maker, he was persistent. “I... I don’t know.” The mage confessed. “Ever since I left the Circle I wasn’t being able to stay in one place for long. It feels... alien to me. I really don’t like being alone in a cold and damp cellar either. Reminds me too much of my one year in solitary confinement.” Darrian made an irritated noise. “You should have told me!” Anders felt the good old spite and anger rising. “And what? You are the Warden-Commander, you can’t make exceptions for your pet mage.” Darrian felt like he was slapped in the face. With an iron gauntlet. “You’re not my pet, Anders.” “True.” the mage replied. “We both know that. But what about the rest of Vigil’s Keep? Are they aware of this fact? Or they might just assume?” The elf raised both of his hands and took a deep breath before speaking. “You’re right; I can’t make exceptions, not even for you, or any other of my friends. But if I’d knew about your troubles, I could arrange something so you wouldn’t feel like I’m condemning you to solitary confinement, because I’m not.” He was thinking for a moment, and said “What about I ask Nathaniel to share a room with you? Or maybe Sigrun? I doubt you’d want to crash on Oghren’s spare bed though...” Anders’ sharp features softened, and he shook his head. “No, thank you, but I do not wish to trouble you further; or to trouble any more of our companions. I appreciate the sentiment though.” Darrian sighed, and rubbed his nose-ridge. “As you desire.” The sun was almost up. Anders pushed himself away from the wall, and turned to leave, but he looked back at the elf. Darrian was still staring at him with his intense gaze, and before the mage could flee the scene, he came up with a proposal. “Listen Anders, I don’t want to be intrusive, but if it would make you feel less trapped and would make you stay a little longer, I could visit you in your quarters and talk to you, whenever I have the spare time. Also, since we spend an awful lot of time together, how about you just come up and talk with me whenever we’re in camp or aren’t being chased through the woods by a horde of darkspawn? I’m just as good at listening as I am at asking questions.” Anders permitted himself a smile. “I accept the offer.” Darrian mirrored his expression, and nodded towards the man. “Good. How about we retire now to our respective quarters, and have a nap before the day really begins?” Anders nodded but he turned around as he saw Darrian leaving. “Commander!” the elf stopped, and looked back over the shoulder-plate of his armour. “Thank you!” The mage said, and after a mock-bow, he disappeared into the still dark depths of the keep. Darrian followed his example. Yet when his head finally landed on his pillow, sleep still avoided him for a long while.

***

Maker, he was tired. He barely heard the dwarf assessing the necessary funds for the renovation of the keep’s outer walls; he was too occupied with keeping his eyes open. “Eighty Sovereigns. That would be the minimum requirement to pay the workers.” Darrian raked his hair back from his face with his fingers. Voldrik was determined not to let him go before he negotiated the funding for the builders. “All right, all right.” the elf yielded. “I’ll get you your eighty Sovereigns. But I can spare no more.” Come to think about it, he was in a dire situation with the crumbling keep and the impending darkspawn attack. “Commander!” a voice dragged Darrian out from his thoughts. Anders approached with Nathaniel and Sigrun on his tail. “Are we about to do some marsh-treading? Wandering to the Wending Wood?” Darrian made an expression that eerily resembled of suffering. “He is like that since morning.” Nathaniel added, stopping next to the mage. “I think I’m going to have a headache.” Anders glanced at the rogue and riposted with “I don’t even know Howe could you put up with this until now.” Nathaniel took a deep breath. “One more pun Anders, and I swear to the Maker I’ll send an arrow to your arse.” “Still better than an arrow to the knee. Or an Archdemon to the face. Or...” before he could continue, Darrian darted off to the gate’s direction while ordering them. “All right, all of you; follow me!”

He loved to listen to their banter. He had to admit it to himself. Anders’ lame puns and inappropriate jokes always made him smile, and as much as Nathaniel objected, he couldn’t stifle his laughter sometimes either. Sigrun was a whole different kind of individual, and not just because she was a dwarf, who was sentenced to fight the darkspawn ‘til death among the ranks of the Legion of the Dead.  She lacked knowledge of many things with regards to the surface world, and thus was easy prey to the mage’s jokes. She wasn’t entirely oblivious to sarcasm though, so the three people walking behind Darrian’s back slowly began a sort of “battle of wits”. It was entertaining, if not distracting. The Warden-Commander trusted his companions enough to know when it wasn’t the appropriate time for such distractions, so he let them have their fun while he was paying attention to the road ahead. “Ugh. I think I stepped into mud.” He heard Nathaniel’s comment before stopping at a crossroads. A smaller pack of Hurlocks were coming at their direction. “Time for more darkspawn, I see.” Darrian muttered, while he drew his twin blades. “Then off we go to combat!”

It was only a matter of time before it happened. The skirmish didn’t last too long; they were used to getting ambushed by either darkspawn or random bandits who didn’t know better. Darrian and Sigrun were flanking a Hurlock alpha, while Nathaniel rained arrows; Anders shot ice bolts on the rest of the pack. It all seemed too easy. “Keep your wits about you!” Darrian ordered. “There might be more of them around.” The light-hearted band of misfits turned into a company of battle-hardened soldiers in an instant. Their commander was right. A bigger company of darkspawn waited near the ambush site, and attacked as soon they got the scent of their brethren’s blood in the air.

If Darrian thought their previous clash to be too easy, this one was the opposite. They were outnumbered by the tens, and he lost sight of his teammates. He occasionally heard their distinctive warcries and comments, but they were scattered. Not good. Especially not good for Anders. Mages were easy target if surrounded, and Darrian was barely able to cut down his own opponents. Nathaniel was the closest ally he could get to, and helped him fend off the Hurlocks that came too close for him to shoot at with his bow. They heard Sigrun’s warcry turn into a pained scream, and proceeded to fight their way towards her. Darrian rushed forward, Nathaniel covered his back. They arrived a moment too late to save Sigrun from a blow that sent her to the ground. Her opponent, an enormous ogre roared and spat at the elf and the archer, before running them through. Darrian felt the ogre’s horn tearing his flesh open along with his chainmail. He landed on his back, and cried out, but almost instantly felt a warmth and itch, as healing magic did its job. He stood up, and saw Anders for a moment before getting rammed again by the ogre. Nathaniel’s arrow pierced trough the monster’s leg, but it didn’t even slow down. It picked Darrian up from the ground and punched him several times before dropping him like a bleeding sack of potatoes. The Warden-commander felt lucky to be able to breathe after he slowly gathered himself to his feet. He felt that a few of his ribs were broken, and he coughed up blood. But this wasn’t the first ogre that he encountered, and Darrian swore to the Maker that this won’t be the last either. He gathered all of his strength and all of his body’s inner reserves, and dashed and jumped at the ogre, his twin blades landing inside its heart, then as the giant body fell with him on top of it; he drew one of his swords and planted it into the ogre’s skull.

Anders wasn’t near enough his companions to help in time. He saw Sigrun falling and the commander and Nathaniel rushing to her rescue, but was occupied with his own batch of darkspawn. He yelled “I’ll show you why mages are feared!” at the genlock trying to cut him in half before he froze it with a spell. Sadly the freezing effect didn’t last long, and he was neither a warrior nor in a position to be able to crash the darkspawn-statue made of ice, and rid himself of the creature.  He could send a wave of healing magic to Darrian’s direction after he got rammed by the ogre, but that was the only thing he could do before the lesser darkspawn overwhelmed him. He got stabbed by one of the creatures, and felt the burning of a poisoned and tainted wound as he fell to the ground. He dropped his staff as his knees hit the grass, and he tried to back away, as the Hurlock leading the pack picked the staff from where it fell and broke it in half. Anders cursed under his nose but wasn’t really desperate. After all, he could call on some spells without the use of his staff. He held one of his hands up and concentrated, but nothing happened. No cone of cold. No ray of fire. He also felt like he was running for a whole day. His vision blurred, and the last thing he saw before everything went black, was two blades tearing through the Hurlock.

Darrian kicked the dead darkspawn out of his way, as he rushed towards the collapsing mage. “Anders! Do you hear me?” he gently shook the man, but got no response. “Dammit, he’s all bloodied. Wonder how much of it is his own...” Nathaniel examined the scene, and found a small blade near the broken halves of Anders’ staff. He went to see if Sigrun’s still alive, and returned with the barely conscious dwarf to pick the curious item up. He felt a familiar smell. “They used Magebane.” he told Darrian, who still tired to wake Anders up, but to no avail. “Drains all of the caster’s mana and poisons them. So even if he’d wake up, he wouldn’t be able to heal himself. Or us.” Darrian looked around, and took in the sad sight of the crossroads turned battlefield, and his battered friends. Sigrun was sickly pale, probably holding her insides with one arm, while holding on to Nathaniel’s neck with the other. Anders was unconscious and bleeding. Darrian himself wasn’t feeling too hot either. “Let’s get back to the keep.” He ordered, and scooped the mage up carefully. “And let’s pray the Maker will be merciful and we won’t get another ambush party in our necks while we’re at it.”

***

Healing without magic was trickier and took a lot more time. Darrian wished for his old companions to be here, especially Wynne. He tried to endure the surgeon’s procedure without as much as a squeak, but he failed many times. He also feared for his companions’ lives. He got a few healing poultices applied to him, and was ordered to stay still until they start to work, so he had no choice but to wait. After a while that felt like ages, Nathaniel appeared next to his sickbed. He got a bandaged leg and a few flayed fingers, but otherwise he was the one who got through the whole ambush with the least of injuries. “How are you, Commander?” he asked. Darrian sat up, gingerly scraping at the bandages on his torso. “Had worse. Good to see you’re well, Nate.” The man nodded, then reported a few things about the keep itself. Darrian felt worse and worse as news of another broken wall and collapsed chamber reached his ears, along with how undermanned and neglected the whole building was. He rose to his feet, and began to get his garment and armour on. “I... I can’t lie around idly while there’s so much to do.” he stammered, seeing Nathaniel’s puzzled expression. The pang he felt near his heart he was sure to be of a figurative nature. He has to know the fate of Sigrun and Anders as well. Nathaniel stood up and caught the elf before he collapsed. “Sigrun’s all right. She’s up and running again, got some healing potions. I wonder how they didn’t leak out from the hole she had on her stomach.” Darrian let himself be led back to his makeshift bed, but he didn’t lie down. “What about Anders?” he asked. Nathaniel shook his head and Darrian feared the worst, but then the rogue carried on. “He’s still unconscious. The surgeon was able to stop the bleeding, but Maker knows when – or if – he’ll wake up again.” Darrian sighed which caused him severe discomfort. He looked up at Nathaniel and asked “You’re good with poisons aren’t you?” Nathaniel nodded. “Can Magebane cause something like this?” Howe was thinking for a moment but then he shook his head. “No. Magebane just drains mana, and has some mild poisoning effect, but nowhere this severe.” Darrian brushed his hair from his face, his usual braids long untangled in the heat of the battle. “Maybe they mixed it with something stronger.” he wondered. “That would be bad news.” Nathaniel added. “It’s already bad news that they know how to talk.” Darrian replied. “We need to get a sample of this poison to make an antidote.” Nathaniel sighed. “You know as well as I that this is near-impossible.” Darrian wanted to riposte with “I did the near-impossible when I defeated the Archdemon”, but he just pressed his lips together and stayed silent. “Look, I know you care about Anders.” Nathaniel said on a calming tone. “You care about all of us in fact, but you are injured as well. I don’t say finding a vial of this poison by chance is out of the question, but as long as you’re barely held together by a heap of bandages, we’re better off staying in the keep.”

Darrian had no choice but to agree. Still, as soon as he was able to, he returned to the fortification and renovation of Vigil’s Keep, along with sending some of his troops to various locations, sometimes sending Nathaniel or Sigrun or any other of his trusted friends to lead them. This led to confrontation with some people, but Darrian couldn’t afford to pay attention. He spent most of his evenings at Anders’ side, hoping the mage would open his eyes, or at least show some signs of life. He looked like a corpse, only the shallow breathing meant that he’s still alive. Darrian took care of the kitten, Ser Pounce-a-lot as well, but he didn’t dare risking the disapproval of the surgeon by bringing the animal to the infirmary.  The Warden-Commander laid his head to rest on his arm next to his friend, waiting for something to happen. Anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't you worry, Anders will be fine by the next chapter. Also I might point out that I want the story to be a bit more plot-heavy later on, so the light-heartedness may go away. We'll see.  
> Thank you for reading, stay tuned for the next chapter (I plan to update as frequently as I can)! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated (I'd give you a +10 approval :D ) if you leave feedback, but it is not mandatory. Cheers!


	2. Doubts and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian has doubts about his leadership-skills, has a weird dream about a certain mage and a hostage situation goes down terribly.
> 
> Warnings for anti-elf sentiments being thrown around along with cursewords and just a little canon-typical violence. Scarred Mercenary Leader might or might not be my minor OC (just think of him as a minor boss from the game).

He slowly opened his eyes, and almost immediately shut them tight again to shield them from the piercing light that one small candle on his nightstand provided. Everything was blurry, and like he was seeing the world through a veil, but he felt better. The roaring pain in his wounds were tamed into a dull ache, and he could even move his fingers if he wanted to. He felt something cold and metallic, also something warm holding onto his hand. Anders turned his head to see what it was, and a small ghost of a smile appeared on his features, as he recognized the elf’s ginger hair, and sleeping form. He couldn’t help but wonder if Darrian would be guarding this vigilantly if any other of his companions would lay there. He tried to get his hand out of Darrian’s grasp, but he woke the elf in the process. “Oh, you’re awake!” the Warden-Commander exclaimed. “Not so loudly if I may ask.” Anders drawled. “Thank the Maker.” Darrian seemed to be genuinely relieved. “How long have I slept?” The mage asked, rubbing his eyelids. “Four days. I thought I might have to go and bring ash from the Sacred Urn again to revive you.” the Commander answered. “But now that you’re back, I think you spared me that trip.” He tried not to sound too relieved or happy, but he was. He thought he’d lost the man for good.

“Is Ser Pounce-a-Lot okay?” Anders asked, fighting himself into sitting position. “He’s happy as a kitten can be.” Darrian replied. “I didn’t dare to bring him here though, for I can deal with an Archdemon, but not with Surgeon Serena’s wrath. He’s at my quarters.” Anders seemed relieved that he knew that the cat is safe and taken care of. “I really don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you, Commander.” Darrian’s features hardened, as he slowly rose to his feet. “You didn’t have to do anything. I believe that common decency should be a basic thing, not something you have to earn.” “So it’s just decency on your part?” the mage asked, and flashed a crooked smile. “A pity. With all the fuss you did over me recently I started to think I’m special.” Darrian blushed ‘til the pointy top of his ears. “It... It’s not that.” He wasn’t too convincing, even to himself. “I guess I won’t bother you further tonight.” the Warden-Commander cleared his throat, and turned to leave. “If you feel well enough to return to your duties, please report to me tomorrow!” he ordered the man, then left the infirmary.

His sleep was restless, as usual, but this time it wasn’t because of the taint, or the darkspawn, or the nightmares.  In his dream, he was at home; back in the dingy little hovel in the Alienage of Denerim. Somehow the otherwise sad environment felt like home. Darrian smiled to himself as he left his old room to see if his father and his cousins are about. The only person he encountered was a man, who stood in front of the hovel’s only window, turning his back at the elf. The light coming from the outside painted a golden glow on his long blond hair. Darrian took a step closer, wanting to greet Zevran and tell him how he missed him. Then as he got closer to the motionless form standing a few feet away, he noticed that the man is much taller and has a broader frame than an elf. Darrian touched his back, and the man turned his face towards him. The elf’s heart skipped a beat, as he was staring into a certain mage’s honey-brown eyes, and saw his crooked smile. Then before he could even process the whole scene, or at least ask Anders what in the Maker’s name is he doing in his dream, Darrian woke up. He looked around in his quarters, saw the armour stand and the small desk, which doubled as Ser Pounce-a-lot’s favourite lookout point at the moment, and he shook his head. It must be the events of past days that made him nervous about Anders.

After dressing up and shoving Ser Pounce-a-lot under his armour, Darrian left his quarters to go about the day as he planned. He wanted to give the cat back to its original owner, but at the same time he wanted to delay meeting with the mage. He checked on Sigrun and listened to Oghren go on about his hangover and trouble with family life, then he went out to the battlements to see how Voldrik and the dwarves are going with preparations for the renovation. He met Nathaniel halfway through, and asked him about how things are going around the arling. “Not well.” the rogue replied. “There are barely enough soldiers to protect Vigil’s Keep, and the roads are teeming with darkspawn and bandits. There are reports of missing caravans too.” Darrian sighed. “We made a lousy job keeping the bandits away, it seems.” Nathaniel nodded bitterly. “We should make another sweep through the nearby farmlands. See if we can catch one of these blighted arseholes and make them leave for good.” He proposed, to which Darrian concurred. “I go see if everyone’s in shape to accompany us.” Nathaniel made a curt nod and left. The Commander continued on his way.

Anders wasn’t in the infirmary, which Darrian thought of as a good sign. There were less soldiers lying around as well. The Warden-Commander left the infirmary, slowly taking the steps to the throne room. A place he tried to avoid ever since they came back from their skirmish with the darkspawn. Seneschal Varel was on his mark, giving the arriving elf the eye, waiting for Darrian to stop in front of him. “Commander, there are some things that cannot be avoided.” The older man scolded the elf. “Tell me about it.” Darrian muttered, absent-mindedly stroking Ser Pounce-a-lot’s fur. “Are you ready to greet the nobility and the farmers who came with complaints?” Seneschal Varel asked and Darrian nodded, though he’d rather hide under a rock. The whole ordeal went like that, Darrian having a knot tied in his stomach and his throat dry. He had to decide the fate of petty thieves and settle a dispute between two farmland owners, and felt like the day was dragging on like a drunk snail under a slowing spell.

He was about to cook up a convincing lie about why he needs to get out of the throne room, when the door swung open, and the crowd began to murmur and scatter, as a familiar voice said “Excuse me, coming through! Move it!” and Darrian could see Anders’ blonde head appearing in the front row, next to the quarrelling nobles. “Warden-Commander!” He exclaimed and pointed a long finger at the elf. “I suppose you have unauthorized possession of my cat!” Seneschal Varel hid his face in his palm. “Shall I return it?” Darrian asked sheepishly. Captain Garavel stepped closer to the Commander and added “It would be wise indeed to return Ser Pounce-a-lot to his mum.” Darrian made a grim face as he handed over the kitten to the mage. “His mum is a stray.” He muttered, which made Anders gasp loudly and cover the kitten’s ears with his hand. “Oh, don’t listen to the mean elf, Ser Pounce-a-lot!” “The Commander is a well-known collector of strays.” Captain Garavel added, which prompted Anders to make a disgusted noise and leave. The dispute between the farmland owners were settled shortly after.

Darrian also had a hard case with a soldier, who was caught leaving her post, and branded a deserter. She pleaded for him to let her go, and the assembled advisors all were against it. “The Wardens are a military organization Commander, and as such, held together by discipline. If you allow this woman to go freely, what will keep the rest of our soldiers to just run and never look back?” Captain Garevel was in a bad mood that day it seemed. Darrian looked apologetically at the soldier, then asked her why did she leave. “I had to see what has become of my family! There are darkspawn and bandits all around, and they live out on the countryside, with no one to protect them or to warn them... I just couldn’t stand here while they may be in danger.” The soldier answered. “You’re not the only one with families in danger!” Senechal Varel scolded the woman. Darrian raised his hand to silence his advisors. “Would you return to your duty if your family was close by?” He asked. The soldier saw the straw he dropped and held on to it. “I would, Commander. I’m sorry for leaving, I did not want to desert.” Darrian nodded. “Escort her to her family’s home, and let her move them to the keep. Any of our soldiers, who have family on the countryside, might do so on schedule. Maker knows, the Keep needs helping hands.” Some people rejoiced, others grumbled.

“Are you sure this was the right decision?” Seneschal Varel asked, pulling Darrian out of sight. The elf nodded. “There are plenty of unused rooms in Vigil’s Keep. Those who wish could help us with all the tasks that need to be done to renovate and fortify. Those who don’t may return to their work on the field. We can even send a few soldiers with them.” Self-doubt. That damned thing that always emerged when he thought he was doing the right thing. Should he have the soldier hanged? Darrian was sure that he would never make such a decision. He knew that the nobles and even his advisors think that he’s weak. An incompetent leader. Seneschal Varel eyed him for a moment before nodding and sending the remaining people away, saying the Commander had plenty of other things to do. And he was right. Darrian went to gather his party and go back to the road, even though he’d rather curl up to a ball in a dark corner and wish himself out of existence.

They were unusually silent. No bantering, no complaints from Anders about the “filthy dirty beasts” that lurked around in the forest, or cheerful comment from Sigrun about the nice smell of the trees and flowers. Nathaniel was gloomier than usual, the dark grey rainclouds reflected in his similar coloured eyes. “Not to be nosy about our reasons for this stroll through the forest, but why we are here exactly?” Anders broke the silence that was bordering on being awkward. “We’re hunting bandits.” Nathaniel answered in the Commander’s stead. Darrian didn’t feel like talking and was grateful for the distraction that came in the form of a few running peasants. He quickened their pace towards the seemingly fleeing people, and stopped one of them, a woman dragging a child along. “Why are you running? What’s wrong?” Darrian asked. “There are soldiers on our field, drove us away.” The woman stuttered. “They killed everyone who objected.” Darrian turned his head to look at Nathaniel and Anders. “Do you know who their leader is?” Howe asked. The woman seemed to be in thought then she shook her head. “I didn’t catch ‘is name, ser. I did see ‘im though. Large man, with a scar on ‘is face like it was ripped off.” Nathaniel made an irritated groan. “Friend of yours?” Anders asked. Darrian turned back to the woman before the rogue could answer the mage’s question. “Go to Vigil’s Keep! You’ll be safe there.” The woman’s features lightened up, and she picked up her child before leaving with a “Thank you good ser; Maker preserve you!” “So?” Darrian turned back to Nathaniel. “It seems like you know who this mysterious scar-faced arseface is.” The archer nodded. “I had the misfortune to meet him quite frequently, when I was a child. He used to work for my father.” “Ouch.” Anders added. “And now he’s here terrorizing the locals. I say we go and greet him with a few boots and arrows and spells in the face, what say you?” “I’m with the mage!” Sigrun inserted. Nathaniel looked at Darrian, waiting for the commander to decide their course of action. “All right.” The elf nodded. “Let’s shed some blood.”

It wasn’t too long when they reached the farmlands. They were hiding in a small group of trees, watching as the mercenaries went about their business on the farm. It seemed like they were expecting trouble. “I wonder what they’re doing here…” Darrian mused. “I mean… They don’t look like they’re just here to forage. They would have left by now, if that was the case.” Anders sat next to him on the ground, going through his backpack for spare lyrium potions and anything else they might use in a battle. “Or maybe they are waiting for you to whoop their ass, Fearless Leader.” the mage commented while not even looking at the elf. “I’d rather if we could solve things peacefully.” Darrian confessed. “They are working for someone, and maybe that someone could be persuaded to help us instead of working against us.” Anders chuckled. “Oh, what did you say an hour ago? ‘Let’s shed some blood’?” Darrian turned his gaze from the farmhouse back to the mage. “Don’t get me wrong here; I will cut them to small pieces if they leave me no choice. I’m just not entirely closed to communication, unless they are in the middle of violating my sister.” Anders’ smile became a bit wider. “Fair enough.” They saw two shadows approaching, as Nathaniel and Sigrun both returned from scouting the area. “It’s a small group, but they are well-trained.” The archer reported. “They are quite chatty as well. Seems like they have at least one hostage.” Darrian exchanged glances with Anders before sighing in frustration. Why in the name of Andraste can’t it ever be easy? “Here’s what we’ll do: Rescue the hostage – or hostages, if there are more than one – and kick the ever-loving daylight out of anyone who opposes us. We need the leader alive though. I want to question him.” His companions nodded. “Let’s split up so Nathaniel can hide somewhere he can shoot the bastards without being detected.” Darrian carried on with orders. “Anders, you’ll go with him, and Sigrun will cover my back. I’ll go and kick the front door in.” Anders and Sigrun looked at each other then back to the Warden-Commander. “Are you sure?” The mage asked. “I mean, I really dig your “Hero of Ferelden” bravado, but if they make a pin cushion from you because you were being a reckless idiot, I’ll be very mad.” Darrian’s features were lighted up by a wide grin. “I became the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ because I’m a reckless idiot. Now let’s go and stir things up a bit!”

And so they were. Darrian walked to the farmhouse’s direction, casually placing his hand to the hilt of his sword and slightly tilting his head backwards so he could shoot a glance to the roof for snipers. He didn’t see any, but he knew very well that it doesn’t mean that there are none. Suddenly the house’s door flung open and a terrified elf girl rushed out, right in Darrian’s direction. She was shouting something – the Warden-Commander didn’t catch it – and was almost there, nearly jumping in his arms when an arrow’s head bursted through her throat, and she collapsed in front of the male elf, who could barely catch her. Darrian watched in horror as the girl still tried to speak to him, as she died in his arms. Suddenly, he wasn’t there at the farmhouse in Amaranthine. He was back in Denerim, back in the Arl’s estate, and he saw his would-be-wife butchered, his cousin violated, and felt the same blind rage building up. The mercenaries surrounded him, as he rose and carefully placed the dead elf on the ground. “Well, well, the so-called Hero of Ferelden came to disgrace us with his presence.” the scarred mercenary leader grated. “And I thought you’ll pose more of a challenge. But what did I expect from a lousy elf. Your kind never puts up a good fight.” Darrian made a grin that more resembled a wolf’s snarl. “I will put up a fight _shem,_ just you wait!” This was the moment when one of the mercenaries fell off the roof, a familiar arrow stuck in their head. Darrian didn’t need to order his friends to fight. He was surprised that they held back until now. Whatever chance he thought possible for negotiation, was annulled at the moment the enemies pulled the trick with the hostage. Darrian wasn’t going to talk with the likes of Vaughan. Not back then, not now, not ever. His trusted twin blades were in his hands faster than one could blink, and he was at the scarred faced human, determined to give him more of them. Anders, Nathaniel and Sigrun took care of the handful of soldiers, while Darrian could focus on the leader.

He parried the human’s heavy two-handed blade, relying more on swift cuts and his generally greater speed than physical strength, but wasn’t lucky enough to avoid getting injured entirely. He didn’t even feel a thing, he was too enraged. When he cried out after a hit, it sounded more like an angry growl that turned into a vicious laughter. The clash between the elf and the mercenary was a sight to behold. Eventually, the Wardens overpowered the mercenary band, and as their former leader and sole survivor lie on the ground, Darrian stepped closer and held the man at his sword’s tip. “Talk!” he spat. “You only have one chance.” The man on the ground let out an ugly laughter. “What does it matter? If you let me go, I’ll be back at your tail, elf. I will not rest until I erased the shame that you are on this nation’s face.” he spat a blotch of bloody saliva on the ground. “‘Hero of Ferelden’ my ass. You and that motherless bastard killed the real hero. You’re nothing but a little piece of shit that forgot that he belongs in the sewers.” Anders whistled, Nathaniel hissed, Sigrun just took her blades out. “Wow.” The mage sneered. “We got ourselves a Loghain supporter, still cross because you and King Al offed his favourite asshat.” “Are there more hostages?” Darrian asked, barely holding back from pushing his blade into the man’s throat. The mercenary leader just smiled grimly at the Commander.

Nathaniel had a bad feeling and he went to check inside the farmhouse. He saw some of the mercenaries’ corpses, but there were other bodies. Elves, probably the household’s servants. All neatly hanging from the master beam. Nathaniel went back to his commander, knowing nothing good will come if he reports this, but he had no choice. “Commander, I think you shouldn’t go inside. It seems they executed the hostages long before we arrived. That girl they used as bait was probably the last of them.” Darrian ran to the building, and went inside. Nathaniel and Sigrun helped their prisoner up. “You’re coming with us, and will answer a few more questions in the dungeon.” Howe growled into the mercenary’s face. “And don’t you worry; I’m far more patient than my commander.” In truth, what he saw inside that farmhouse stirred even his cool temper. They didn’t expect the Warden-Commander to rush back at them, and stab one of his swords into the mercenary leader, while cutting his throat with the other. Darrian hacked and stabbed at the man long after he was dead, and he screamed. Screamed like a rage demon in elven form. Seeing him like this, the two men and the dwarf started to really believe the tales about this elf defeating the Archdemon by himself.

His mind went blank. All he saw was the girl bleeding and dying in his arms, the slowly swinging corpses of the farmhouse’s servants, and the audacious grin on the human’s face, the bullshit the likes of him spewed about their perceived superiority. He screamed and cut and stabbed until he suddenly felt two arms around his chest and heard a voice. “Commander, calm down!” Nathaniel. He broke free of his friend’s arms and spun around, still snarling like a mad dog. Nate took a step back; Sigrun stepped in front of him to be able to disarm the elf if he attacks the archer. Anders took the situation in his hands, putting his staff down, and raising his hands. “Commander...” hearing the mage’s voice started to break the red cloud over his mind. “Commander, it’s over.” Darrian snapped out of the rage, and let himself be embraced by Anders. “It’s okay now. They can’t hurt you anymore. They can’t hurt anyone anymore. It’s over.” He murmured into the elf’s ear, and all of them were relieved when they heard the twin blades’ clanking sound as they hit the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you very much for reading, I hope the story sucks less and will suck less as it progresses (I might change the point of view to a different character because... you know "Ugh, obnoxious OC"). If you guys would like to see something specific happen in the fic, please leave a suggestion in the comments! Ta! 
> 
> Up next: Nathaniel is a great friend, Darrian opens up a bit about his troubles, and that he misses his dog. Anders to the rescue!


	3. Not my Circus, Not my Monkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel is a great friend, Darrian and Anders meet more frequently and they both start to feel a kind of connection to the other. A conspiracy against the esteemed Warden-Commander is brought into light, and our merry gang of misfits will have to do something about it. Also, awkward kissy-scene at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are the usual cursewords, some violence, hinting at game events but not really elaborating on them, lame attempts at humor and cheese. Lots of cheese. Also, random fluff fluffier than Ser Pounce-a-lot. No, really, you all should just skip this one. Hit that x on the right end of the tab already!
> 
> You're still here? Okay, one last thing: I switched POV to Anders mostly, but will continue to jump back into Darrian's "head" when the plot requires it. Sorry about that in advance, I know many people despise OCs in fandom.

Back in Vigil’s Keep, Darrian avoided his companions. He retreated to his quarters as soon as they entered the gates, and haven’t been able to stick out his nose all afternoon. He ran through reports and other boring paperwork instead. It was well after dark when he heard a soft knock on his door. “Come in!” Darrian said not even looking up from his papers. The door opened, and the elf could hear a familiar pair of boots and the sound of glass against metal. He raised his head the same time Nathaniel stopped in front of him and placed the bottle of wine on the Commander’s desk. “You missed dinner.” The rogue said with a smile. Darrian felt a pang in his heart. “I wasn’t hungry.” he pressed out. Nathaniel pulled a chair close and sat down, opening the bottle and gathering two unused cups. They sat and drank in silence until Darrian couldn’t take the tension anymore. “I’m sorry Nate. I don’t know what came over me.” The archer shrugged and took another swig from his cup. “Don’t mention it, Commander.” The elf sighed, and emptied the cup in one go. Nathaniel refilled it. “You need this, and a day off, if I may share my opinion, ser.” Darrian permitted himself a bitter smile and chuckled. “Ah, if only the darkspawn would just take a day off. That would be awesome.” he jested. “But is it the darkspawn or something else?” Nathaniel dared to ask. Darrian looked at him with a perplexed expression. “What do you mean?” It was Howe’s turn to drink his wine in one go and refill his own cup before talking. “Darrian, the last time we spoke you said that we are friends.” the elf nodded. “So I’m here now as your friend. If you want to talk about what haunts you, I’m here. You don’t have to be the only one who carries the entire burden, you know.” Darrian smiled sadly, and raised his cup. “Thank you, Nate.” He didn’t tell him about the war, the nightmares and other obvious reasons for his distress. Nathaniel knew all too well. Instead, he told him about the “sweepings” in the Alienage, the slavers who almost took his father to Tevinter, and about Vaughan. “I lost control.” he concluded. “All the shit I’ve been through, what my family, my people have been through suddenly took a hold of me.” Nathaniel poured another cup of wine to Darrian. “I understand. Really.” He smiled at the elf and continued “But I hope it won’t happen again in the near future. I’d really hate to shoot you, Commander.” Darrian laughed, and suddenly he didn’t feel so horrible. Killing a man who was already subdued ate on his conscience, but at least he knew that Nathaniel is not cross with him. It was a small something, but something.

The next day he felt much better, and was up before sunrise. He went to the battlements to see how the work goes, and to feel the cool air on his face. The sensation soothed him somehow, reminded him of the days in camp. He even missed Alistair’s snoring and Leliana’s complaints about the bugs. He leaned to the wall with a nostalgic smile. “Glad you feel better, Commander.” Darrian heard a voice next to him, so he turned his head to face its owner. Anders stood there, leaning to the wall with one side, supporting Ser Pounce-a-lot with the other. The cat smelled the air and climbed the mage’s shoulder to jump over to Darrian. The elf was surprised, but caught the cat. “He likes you.” Anders stated with a smile. “He usually shies away from everyone else but me, Nate, and Oghren for some reason. I think he just likes to piss off the dwarf.” Darrian chuckled and ruffled the cat’s orange fur. “I always wanted a cat.” He mused, giving Ser Pounce-a-lot a good chin-scratch. “It’s funny that I became the proud owner of a mabari.” Anders raised his brow. “Oh? What’s its name?” Darrian looked at the mage, and shook his head. “You’ll laugh at me if I tell you.” Anders took on a crooked grin, which made Darrian’s blood rush to his cheeks every time he saw it. “Try me! After all, I named my cat Ser Pounce-a-lot; I doubt you can top that.” Darrian made a sheepish smile and said “Fluffy.” Anders laughed out loud. “Come on, you’re bullshitting me again.” The elf’s shy smile widened. “No, I’m not. And that’s the worst of it.” He kept on ruffling the cat’s fur. “But you know it fits him somehow. He’s really fluffy especially when he’s freshly washed... Not to mention that I thought he’s a female for a long time before I got enlightened by a friend.” “You really never bothered to check do you?” Anders laughed. “What can I say? No, I didn’t.” The elf responded. "Oh, I miss that flea-infested mutt so much."

They kept on talking for a while, and Anders found himself to be relieved that the Commander was back to his old self. He wouldn’t dare to admit it, but he was utterly terrified by the elf the previous day. Especially when he snapped and was close to attack one of his own. He knew that state of mind very well, even though he never shared the full extent of his experiences as a mage in the Circle. No one would believe him anyway. Going over to the enraged Commander and trying to calm him was something he did out of instinct. He wasn’t thinking, and he scolded himself for that later when they came back to the Keep. He could be injured or dead. Instead, the elf somehow sobered up in his arms, dropped his weapons and led them back without a word. None of them spoke on the road, not even the usually chatty mage. He watched Darrian’s back as he ruffled Ser Pounce-a-lot’s fur, and tried not to remember the Commander’s face and horrible cries. Back in the Keep, Anders returned to the infirmary to heal a few injured soldiers before he ran out of mana completely, and after a night of restless sleep and nightmares, he went to the battlements to air his head. As he did time and time again, for days to come. The Commander didn’t act on his promise to visit the mage’s quarters – he had too many things to do – but they met on the battlements every dawn. Anders found himself to be looking forward to these little moments where the both of them shared stories, laughed freely and without the impending danger of a darkspawn attack or bandits, or Templars. Sometimes they found Nathaniel sitting on the parapet, looking over the Keep and its surroundings, sometimes he even joined their conversation. But for most of the time, the rogue just left them alone, and only accompanied them if they ventured out of the Keep on some mission or another.

* * *

 

“… So it was like that. Leliana shouted “Trap”, but Alistair was already knee deep in that hole filled with some sticky crap that took him days to get off of his boots. And later in camp, he was confronted by Wynne, who complained about his wondering dirty sock, and he was happy to have a spare… You can put the rest together.” Anders was shaking his head with a smile, while listening to Darrian’s story. They were in camp, sitting by the fire while Nathaniel was out hunting for dinner. Sigrun sat opposite of them on a fallen tree trunk, and drank from the bottle of fine liquor she got as a gift from the Commander from the loot they found. The elf wasn’t the best storyteller in the world, and only shared one of his former adventures because he lost a bet he made with Anders earlier that day. “Please never tell him that you know this from me.” Darrian concluded. “Also the story with the cheese… You should forget it entirely.” Anders laughed. “It seems like the phrase ‘everything is better with cheese on it’ was invented by King Al.” Darrian chuckled. “But why is he so fond of cheese?” Sigrun asked. “I don’t think it’s so special.” “Believe me I do not know, nor did I ever dare to ask Alistair about it.” the elf answered. “It must be something with the so-called Warden’s appetite.” There was a moment of pause before Anders breaking the silence with “But cheese _is_ good stuff if you think about it.” Nathaniel returned to camp with a dead rabbit and proceeded to turn the former animal into their dinner. He raised a brow when Sigrun asked if there will be cheese in the rabbit-stew, and didn’t really understand the sudden bout of laughter from the mage and the commander. The two of them passed cheese-related jokes around all evening, which equally amused and frustrated the rogue.

They continued their journey by dawn, Darrian marching confidently in the front, Sigrun trotting behind his left, Nathaniel on his right, leaving the grumpy and sleepy Anders in the back. They were silent, mostly because of the early hour and still dangerous area so it came as a surprise when they heard the mage exclaim “Maker’s breath kitty, what have you been eating?!” and an offended meow. The company stopped, and Darrian looked back at Anders with curiosity. “Could we wait a minute?” the mage asked. “I see a spot of plants I’d like to examine.” Darrian nodded. “But don’t take long!” Anders waved his hand and stepped into the bush, putting Ser Pounce-a-lot down. The cat scuttled into the growth of grass, only to reappear after a short while. Anders picked him up and put him back into the cowl of his Warden-uniform. When he reached them, Darrian asked the mage if he could examine his plants and for what result. “They’re optimal for use as cat-litter.” Anders concluded and refused to speak for a long while. He didn’t want to sound so cross, but it couldn’t be helped by now. The company marched on, and eventually reached a camp made by darkspawn. Sigrun seemed happy to report to find them after a little scouting, and all of her companions welcomed the opportunity for a little exercise. "Do you keep count of the darkspawn you killed, Commander?" Darrian heard Anders' voice and turned to look at the mage. "We could compete!" The elf grinned. "Deal. The one with the smallest bodycount will carry the tents!" he yelled at his companions, then leapt into battle, the archer, the scout and the mage following him closely.

* * *

 

“Okay, you have to admit that he’s cute.” Anders mused as Nathaniel and he watched the commander picking elfroot from a distance on their way back to Vigil’s Keep. “Mad as a hatter and scary as fuck, but cute.” the rogue shook his head with mixed amusement and disbelief. “You think the commander is _cute_?” The mage nodded. “Kinda. His ears remind me of a cat’s. And he has a really charming smile.” “The last time I saw him smile, he was covered in darkspawn blood.” Nate deadpanned. “Only adds to the attractiveness. Ask Sigrun!” Anders grinned. “You’re nuts.” the archer commented, but permitted himself a smile. “By the way, if you think that Darrian is cute, why don’t you go over and tell him?” Anders laughed nervously. “I’m not _that_ nuts. And I like my parts where they are, not scattered around in a neat pattern.” They were silent, but Anders thought about Nathaniel’s suggestion. He concluded not to try. “You think he’d refuse you?” the rogue’s deep voice tore him out from his train of thoughts. “As a matter of fact, yes. But even if he didn’t, he’s still my commanding officer. It would be like flirting with a Templar, and I only did that once. Never again.” “But you flirt with everyone” Sigrun inserted herself into their conversation. “Even with the commander and he didn’t seem refusing to me.” Anders shook his head violently. “Nope. Worst idea in the history of… ever.” he grumbled, then turned his head to the road when he saw his two companions staring into that direction. Darrian stood only a few steps away from them with a curious expression on his face, clutching a handful of elfroot.

“Did I miss something?” the Warden-Commander asked sheepishly. “Yes!” Nathaniel and Sigrun answered in unison. “No!” Anders exclaimed. A moment of awkward silence later Darrian stepped closer to the mage and held his hands out, offering the leaves in them. “I… Gathered these for you. You might use them for potions.” Anders accepted the elfroot and tucked it into his pack. “Thanks… I guess.” he muttered. “You really shouldn’t have…” The elf shook his head. “No, no I wanted to help you out with it. It’s the least I could do after all your hard work in the infirmary and with tolerating the surgeon.” Nathaniel rolled his eyes and began to walk away from the pair, Sigrun following his trail. “Well, this is awkward.” Anders commented, and cleared his throat. “Shall we…?” Darrian spun on his heels faster than the mage could finish his question, and was literally fleeing from his presence. His armour’s clanking was the only sound accompanying them for a long while, until they reached the gates of the Keep.

* * *

 

Nathaniel sensed something going on between the commander and the mage, earlier than Anders’ half-assed confession. It didn’t bother him much unlike the way the commander exerted himself over every little task that was given to them. He tried hard. Maybe too hard. Before he learned all of his father’s misdeeds from a source he believed wholeheartedly – his sister, Delilah – he felt a little respect for Darrian already. But that respect was mixed with pity. He went with the elf on every errand he ran for the seneschal or Mistress Woolsey, or the people of the arling, and played the silent guardian angel for Darrian. The warrior seemed to forget that he’s not invincible, or immortal, and Nathaniel sometimes wondered if he’s only a reckless idiot as he confessed himself, or rather has a death wish. Darrian had a lot going on his mind, so much that he forgot basic things, like he needs to eat or sleep. Nathaniel spent a few days observing the commander from afar, gathering information for himself to use later. He long gave up on his plan to murder the Warden-Commander and gather his family’s belongings and sneak out into the night, never to be seen again. He was worried. Darrian’s compassion and support surprised and confused him at first, but eventually, he came to grow a soft spot for the elf. That’s why he was sitting on top of the parapet looking down to the courtyard, watching as Darrian spoke to some people who stormed in well after nightfall. Nathaniel couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could take a good guess about it based on their and the commander’s body language.

“Oh high and mighty Hero, we have been attacked by darkspawn and bandits and evil Templars took our sheep, you have to help us!”

“Fear not good peasant, I am an elf with many issues, one of them having a compulsion to please everyone around me, so I will storm out the gates in the middle of the night, and avenge your sheep! It is my duty!”

Nathaniel turned his head to face Anders and Sigrun, and shook his head in disbelief, hearing the mage’s impression of the conversation in the courtyard.

“In war, victory!  In peace, vigilance! In death, sacrifice!” Anders concluded his impersonation of Darrian, then looked over to Nathaniel. “What?” The rogue shook his head again. “You’re unbelievable.” “Why thank you!” the mage grinned. “It wasn’t a compliment, Anders.” It was, but Nathaniel didn’t want to inflate the man’s already overgrown ego. “I guess we’ll be heading out to the woods again in the morning.” Sigrun added with enthusiasm. “Life in this place is never dull.” Anders sighed and leaned to the parapet. “You know; I wouldn’t mind if there would be at least one day when we aren’t running around in the woods. Or in a marsh. Or underground.” he shuddered as memories of their trip to Kal’Hirol found their way to the surface. “Especially underground.” He was claustrophobic, so venturing into the Deep Roads, or even to the tunnels under Vigil’s Keep was a harrowing experience. He tried to hide it, keep his composure, not giving his comrades more to worry about than what was there already, but these trips wore him out more than the ones in the Blackmarsh or the woods and countryside. As long as the open sky was above him, Anders was fine. He still kept on bitching about nearly everything, just for principle.

 

They didn’t go into the woods the next day. Darrian told them about his plans during breakfast, and it only involved going to Amaranthine for some supplies and to meet with someone he didn’t name. He looked at his companions and asked them if they have anything they want to take care of in the keep, because he’ll need a few of them to escort him to the city. Nathaniel was the first to volunteer. Darrian gave him a light smile and a curt nod.

Anders sighed and contemplated to stay in the Keep for this one and spend the day in the library or making some much needed potions and health poultices. Seeing his hesitation, Darrian turned to Sigrun, who also joined him. Anders inhaled and rubbed his eyelids. “While I could definitely use a day off to make potions, I think I’ll rather go with you, Commander.” Darrian’s face took on a guilty expression. “You don’t have to over exert yourself. You can stay behind if you want to.” The mage looked at the elf and took his usual cheerful mask on, while standing up from the remains of his breakfast. “You see, Justice looks like a walking corpse, and Oghren is either having a bad hangover or still piss drunk. I’m your best bet!” Darrian smiled at him. “Then it’s the usual gang of misfits.” he commented. “Meet me at the gates in an hour. I’ll tell you a bit more about our trip when we’re on the road.” And with that the commander left the cantina. Nathaniel exchanged a look with Anders and he left too, to gather his gear. Sigrun sat back to finish her boiled eggs and ham.

Anders went back to his quarters just in time to see Ser Pounce-a-lot swatting one of his glass vials off his desk. “Oh, kitty...” he grumbled and leaned down to gather the pieces of broken glass from the floor. He just realized the mess the cat made in his absence. Some of his drawers were opened, and the piles of cat fur on his spare clothes told him that Ser Pounce-a-lot found another sleeping spot. There were also books thrown to the ground and a vial of ink knocked over with cat paw marks all over his desk. “I see you were bored.” Anders commented to the cat and got a loud and indignant “Meow!” as an answer. He chuckled. He could never be angry with that little furball. “Don’t worry Ser Ponce-a-lot, you’ll come with me today.” he scratched the cat’s head behind its ears, prompting a loud purr. “Maybe we’ll find you something nice to eat, or a pretty kitty to be friends with. Not prettier than you, of course.” Another meow, and Ser Pounce-a-lot was in his lap, leaving dark blue marks on his clothes. “Thank Andraste it’s blue. I don’t have to worry if it will come out of it or won’t.” Anders mused about his Warden-uniform, now decorated with pawmarks. He heard a silent knock on the door, and opened it up, to see Darrian standing in the corridor. “Um… We’re about to leave.” he began. “Are you sure that you want to come along? You might be needed here.” Anders shook his head. “I made up my mind. I’m going with you. I could always use some fresh air, and…” he gestured to his ruined room “I need some new flasks and vials. Ser Pounce-a-lot likes to play with them when I’m not around, and that results in loss of equipment.” Darrian nodded. “Very well. We might be spending a few days in Amaranthine, so pack up your gear accordingly!” he advised then left the mage alone.

* * *

 

“… Could you set it on fire? Or freeze it?” Sigrun asked excitedly. “Why do you want me to kill the bush?” Anders asked back a bit indignantly. “Because it’s there. And I would like to see you do it.” came the answer. Darrian paid no attention to his companions’ shenanigans this time, he was deep in thought ever since they left Vigil’s Keep. After Anders’ long lecture about magic not being a form of entertainment, they were advancing towards the city on the road in silence. The commander was grateful for a bit of calm to gather his thoughts, but it didn’t last long. “You keep staring at Ser Pounce-a-lot.” Anders poked Sigrun’s shoulder. “I just realized that he’s your surrogate chest-hair.” she riposted, nudging the mage’s hip. “Whoa, whoa, excuse me, madam! How do you know about the hairlessness of my chest?” Sigrun rolled her eyes. “The bathing chambers are shared, remember?” Anders furrowed his brow and made a very convincing scowl. “You mean you were peeping? At me of all people?” “I nearly bumped into you, but since you were so occupied with watching a certain hot elf, you didn’t notice.” Sigrun answered cheerfully. They didn’t see Darrian’s face, but it was redder than his hair. “Could you both just shut up?” he asked. Nathaniel came to his rescue. “You told us before we left that this trip is actually about more than buying supplies.” Darrian was grateful for the distraction of his embarrassing thoughts about a certain blond young man in nothing but a promiscuous smile. “Well…” he cleared his throat. “… It is about meeting a person, who knows something about an alleged conspiracy against me. Remember the mercenaries in the countryside?” They all nodded. “They were working for bann Esmerelle.” Nathaniel added. “I can’t believe she could be so desperate to hire assassins to end you, but I wouldn’t put it above her.” Darrian shrugged. “I’m not sure if she’s the mastermind behind this, but better be on our guards while in Amaranthine.”

They arrived at the city gates an hour after noon, and went right to the market, to gather the supplies they needed. After half an hour or so, Darrian felt Nathaniel lightly prodding him. “Someone’s following us.” he whispered casually. The elf raised a brow, but didn’t show any other sign of acknowledgement. Anders was getting antsy from being followed, and he prepared a few offensive spells just in case. After all, he was still running from the Templars, and after the incident with Rylock earlier, he imagined there will be another attack, and with bigger force. He wouldn’t put it past the Templar order. They pretty much didn’t give a damn about Anders being a Grey Warden now, to them he was still a dangerous apostate. That made him frown. “Are you all right?” he heard Darrian’s voice. “Yes, I’m fine.” he lied. “Prices for glassware are outrageous here.” The commander gave him a flat look, but didn’t pry. Anders was grateful for it. They left the marketplace and to the mage’s surprise and dismay, Darrian led them to a dark and narrow alley, and stopped. “We’re not alone.” the elf commented on a sing-song tone, then a city guard – or rather, someone who appeared to be a city guard at first glance – entered the alley. Anders’ hands got covered in blue light and ice, and Nathaniel and Sigrun both drew their blades. Bows were out of the question because of the confined space. The stranger stepped closer and stopped a few feet away. “I do not wish to harm you.” he raised his hands. “You’re the messenger then?” Darrian asked, and the mysterious man nodded. “You sent for me, Warden-Commander. I believe you know about the fate of poor Ser Tamra.” Darrian didn’t know, but he was determined to find out sooner or later. “Tell me what you know about this conspiracy.”

* * *

 

Night fell heavily on Amaranthine, with rainfall and wild winds. The four Wardens sat at a table in front of the Crown and Lion’s kitchen, silently looking into their respective beverages. Anders made a seductive smile at the barmaid with a rich bosom - Sorcha was her name if his memory was correct – as she refilled their mugs, making her mirror it and letting her hand stay on his shoulder for just a second longer. “You’re unbelievable.” The mage had a feeling of Deja ‘vu. “I believe you said it before.” he turned to Nathaniel, who was looking at the barmaid’s form disappearing in the kitchen. “What did I do this time, to earn this not-compliment?” Nathaniel turned his face back at Anders, but before he could say a word, Sigrun inserted herself into the conversation, as always. “She literally fell arse over tits for you after nary a minute. Dammit lad, you’re good at this.” “Do you really need to put it that way?” Nathaniel scolded the dwarf, but without a hint of seriousness. “I think his ego is already big enough, if we keep on inflating it, he’ll explode.” “Wanna see what else is big, not just my ego?” Anders riposted. Nathaniel gestured something ungentlemanly to the mage, who chuckled impishly. “Please Nate, not in front of the ladies!” Darrian raised his head from his thoughts and his ale. “Who are you calling a lady, prettyboy?” Sigrun couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I wish Oghren was here. He’d probably have a few words to add to this cockfight.” Darrian wanted to join in his companions’ antics, but he was still haunted by what they learned about the conspiracy earlier that day. Several banns were in it along with more nobles than Darrian could remember by name. Nobody wanted an elf to be the Arl of Amaranthine, not even if he was a revered war-hero. He felt the eyes of his comrades on him, so he looked up again. “I think the commander is tired.” Nathaniel commented. Darrian nodded. “Excuse me. You have fun, but leave enough time for sleep, for tomorrow we’ll head back to the Keep.” He left his companions at the table, and retreated to his room.

He tried to sleep. For the love of Andraste, he tried. But his mind was racing. After Darrian left, they traded a few half-assed jokes and insults, and Anders even thought about going after the barmaid, but the long road left him sore and he craved to sleep in a proper bed after camping outside for days. Now he was laying under the soft blanket, and sleep avoided him like the plague. His thoughts revolved around the conspiracy, the various enemies his commander accumulated, and… well, his commander’s person. Anders didn’t forget that after his injury, he found Darrian holding his hand and sleeping next to his sickbed. The elf dismissed his initial inquiries with “being worried”, and “trying to act decent”, but Anders was no fool. A few weeks ago, Nathaniel asked why don’t he just go up to the commander and confesses that he fancies him. Anders had more than one reason why. One of them was of course what he disclosed to his friend, that he was afraid of rejection or if he angers the commander. But if he wanted to be honest with himself – and he was, most of the time – he was equally afraid of Darrian welcoming his advances. Not that he was afraid of the elf, but rather the possibility itself. Which – according to evidence – wasn’t unlikely. Anders sat up and got out from under the blanket, shivering in the cold night air. He dressed up and left his room, to see if Darrian was still awake. He wanted to clear this mess out of his head the sooner the better, and he wanted to do this before he could change his mind. A small light of a candle shone through the cracks of the door, indicating that the commander was still awake. Anders knocked on the door, and fought the urge to run back to his own room and hide under the blanket.

Darrian was restless with all the things and responsibilities weighing him down like a mountain’s worth of rocks. It wasn’t the first time he felt like drowning under the necessary tasks, so he did what worked best for him before: ignored it all and tried to focus on something else. A man came to mind, one who was far, far away from him. He fished out Zevran’s letter from his pack, and read it again. And again. He memorized every word, knew them by heart, wishing his lover would be there, and he could wake up next to him, not in an empty, cold bed. A few more tearstains dotted the crumpled paper before Darrian got embarrassed by himself and shoved the letter back to his pack. He just wiped his eyes when he heard the knock on the door. Forgetting about his heartache instantly, he went and opened the door. He didn’t expect Anders to stand outside, only wearing his trousers and boots. “Commander, could we talk for a moment?” he asked on a low voice and Darrian nodded. He stepped away from the door, and closed it behind the mage.

Anders was still unsure of what he was doing here. He was still cold, and cursed himself for not dressing properly. Darrian offered him a chair and seeing his obvious distress, put a log to the fireplace. Anders scooted his chair closer to the fire and sat down. “What is it you wanted to speak with me about?” Darrian’s soft voice broke the silence. _Here we go…_ “Commander, may I ask a personal question?” The elf was glaring at him, but eventually hung his head and nodded. “Go ahead.” Anders took a deep breath and asked “Do you find me attractive?” there. It was out, no turning back now. Darrian’s face went red like the strands of hair that fell to his eyes as he tried to look away. He raked them with his fingers and still avoided to look at Anders. “I would really like to know, because you confuse me.” the mage confessed. “You know, I’m usually good with people – or at least I’d like to think I’m good with them- but you give me a whole mess of mixed signs. And please do not insult my intelligence with yet another bullshit story about wanting to be decent.” Darrian sat there with an unreadable expression on his face. “I care about you, Anders.” he pressed out after a long and awkward minute of silence. “But believe me when I say that I’m just as confused as you are.” Bullshit. “You may try to deny it, but I can put the puzzle together.” he smiled coldly at the elf. “You care for me a bit too much for it to be simply camaraderie.” Darrian finally deigned to look at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. “All right, listen…” he began, sighing deeply as he tried to gather his confused thoughts “I think you had your share of people telling you that you’re a fine looking young man. And you’re right, I fancy you. Despite that you’re a human.” Seeing Anders’ grin stirred up something in him. Something lustful with just a hint of anger. In other words, Darrian wasn’t sure if he wants to kiss Anders or hit him. He did neither in the end. “Oh my. And here I am, thinking I was the one having a bad crush on you.” the mage chuckled. “Turns out it’s mutual.” This scared Darrian to the bone. As long as his affection was one-sided, he could pretend everything was all right. That he’s not letting a year-old wound festering, not reading a letter from someone he never heard from again or felt important enough to answer. He was mad at Zevran for leaving him. But he wasn’t ready to move on, and he felt like he’ll never be ready.

Anders stood up and took a step closer to Darrian, who was apparently distressed. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, the healer taking over for a moment. Darrian shook his head, and scooted away to make room if Anders was going to sit next to him. “You look quite tormented.” the mage added while sitting down next to the elf, but leaving enough room between them. “I am.” the short answer came, and Darrian stayed quiet for a long while. Anders was about to stand up and leave but he felt the elf’s smaller but firm hand grabbing his wrist. “Stay… please.” Anders sat back next to Darrian. “What am I supposed to do now?” the elf asked, staring into the flames. He looked so small and lost. Nothing like the brave, or rather reckless warrior he was on the battlefield. Anders could clearly see that something was hurting Darrian, but the elf wasn’t quite ready to talk about it. He reached out and caressed the elf’s back. “I’m here if you want to talk. I’m good at listening too.” Darrian gave him a faint smile and seemingly unaware of his actions, leaned closer to the mage and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. His strawberry-blond hair smelled of smoke and ash from the fireplace. “No. I do not.” Darrian muttered, and as Anders’ hand touched his chin, he let his face to be lifted up and looked into the mage’s honey-brown eyes. Time had stopped. Darrian slightly opened his mouth, if to say something, but no words were uttered. Anders leaned down and softly kissed the elf’s parted lips. He was waiting for the inevitable slap on the face, rejection and berating, but Darrian just returned the kiss. It got the mage off-guard, but he didn’t break out, not wanting to spoil the moment. He felt Darrian’s fingers running through his hair, unbounding his ponytail, and holding onto him like a drowning man would hold onto a floating log. He felt a familiar longing in Darrian, and this time it was Anders’ turn to be scared. He broke away from the elf suddenly, both of them still breathless and flushed from kissing. “I… I’m sorry Commander.” the mage’s voice lost its usual playfulness. “No, it wasn’t your fault…” Darrian protested, but he was barely louder than a squeak. Anders stood up and turned to leave, but he stopped in front of the door and looked back. Darrian still sat by the fire, his legs pulled up to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around them, staring into the flames. The mage said nothing more, just opened the door and sneaked back to his own room. He was tossing and turning for hours until he finally fell into a short, dreamless sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, all right, they will get to do the thing. Eventually. I promise. (I'm just awful with writing anything remotely erotic in nature. Or as you clearly see, I'm awful at writing anything, really. With that said, I'm grateful for everyone who didn't abandon me after reading the first chapter. If there's anyone. I wouldn't blame you for quitting, really.)
> 
> Up next: Meet Velanna, major bitch and vigilante of the Wending Wood.


	4. Taking out the Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darrian and friends go after the lead they got about the conspirators. They meet one of Darrian's old friends and Anders' old instructors, and it ends awkwardly. Wynne's request to find Ines, the botanist leads our heroes to the Wending Wood, where they meet a vengeful elf, who has a few select words to say to the Warden-Commander about his alliances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the single person who bookmarked this, and everyone who has read it so far: Thank you, and sorry for the long wait!
> 
> Warning for violence and occasional coarse language, also some anti-human sentiments being thrown around nearing the chapter's end, but we all know Velanna, I think it's hardly surprising (and yes I know she's not stupid. Just irrational af, and in denial but I guess it's sort-of understandable in her shoes).
> 
> Another note would be the small alteration of Anders' views on the Circle, namely it rather resembles the way he thinks in DA2, than in Awakening, because reasons.  
> There might be other triggering stuff down there, so proceed with care, and consider yourself warned. (But really, if you're still here 4 chapters in, I guess you know what you signed up for. :P )

Rain was still falling when they left the Crown and Lion the next morning. Everyone was quiet, even Anders, which he faulted to the early hour and lack of sleep if asked. After a few minutes of trotting around the streets aimlessly, Darrian took a turn to the high steps leading to the Chantry’s courtyard. Anders stopped and stuck his staff in the mud. “No way I’m going up there!” he grumped. Darrian turned back to look at him from the staircase. “I just want to see if there’s a job or two on the Chanter’s board.” he said apologetically. Anders shook his head. “Then you’ll go alone. I’ll be back at the Crown and Lion.” he turned to leave but Darrian called after him. “I know why it’s bothering you, but please come with us! I wouldn’t want to go back to the tavern _and_ get whatever job we found done. I’m tired.” The last sentence was merely a whisper. Anders threw his hands up to the sky. “Fine, fine. But if a horde of Templars jump right at us from behind a column, I’m blaming you!” Darrian gave him a weak smile and led the way. Nathaniel followed him silently; but Sigrun looked at Anders and shook her head disapprovingly. “Whiny manchild.” she grumbled.

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, another unpleasant surprise awaited them. Or at least it was unpleasant for Anders, for Darrian seemed to be very happy to see the elderly woman in a red mage robe standing in the courtyard in front of a few crates and backpacks. “Wynne! Small world!” the elf greeted the woman, who smiled at him like she would at a long time no see grandson. “Good to see you as well.” she returned the greeting. Anders tried to hide behind the statue of Andraste, then behind Nathaniel, who moved a bit to be able to glare at him. “What the Void is wrong with you?” the archer asked indignantly. Before Anders could answer, Wynne greeted him too. “Ah, I never thought I’d see you again, young man. How many times, six?” Anders lowered his head and trotted forward, only stopping slightly behind Darrian. “Seven.” he sighed. “But this time they didn’t get me!” he flashed an impish grin much to Wynne’s dismay. “Thanks to our friend here, I assume.” she cast a disapproving glance at Darrian, who just smiled sheepishly. Anders felt the urge to kiss him again, but he repressed it. “Anders is a Grey Warden now.” Darrian explained. Wynne’s smile was forced, but she threw her hands up. “I truly hope he’ll fare better under your command than he did under Knight-Commander Greagoir’s and First Enchanter Irving’s.” Anders chuckled mirthlessly. “Yea, right. First of all, Darrian doesn’t lock me up in a small cell. And I’m allowed outside the barracks and I can keep a cat. Fair change if you ask me.” Wynne noticed that the man didn’t address the elf as his commander, but used his given name. But it was Anders, so she wrote it off as a sort of disobedience on his behalf.

“And what brought you to Amaranthine?” Darrian asked, sensing the tension between the two mages. Wynne looked back at him, much to Anders’ relief. “I’m on my way to the Conclave of Magi in Cumberland.” she answered. “I’m about to depart today.” Darrian raised his brow. “What’s this conclave is about?” Wynne waved her hand. “Some of the mages want to break free from the Circle, and the First Enchanters want to have a discussion.” “Oh, silly them. How could they think they’ll ever be free?” Anders commented sarcastically, then got nudged in the ribs by Darrian. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” the elf asked. Wynne shook her head. “You saw what become of the Circle in Kinloch Hold. That is precisely why it is foolish to think we’ll ever not need the Templars.” Darrian wanted to riposte with something, but Wynne carried on. “I know you value personal freedom very much, but this system wasn’t built without cause. It is a necessary evil.” Darrian slowly shook his head. “I think we already discussed this before Wynne, and we agreed to disagree. Yes, I saw what happened in the Circle, and I personally hold Knight-Commander Greagoir as responsible. The Circle Tower was not too different from the prison in Fort Drakon. And instead of actually trying to save what he could, he would have everyone trapped inside the tower with the abominations killed, even the children. That is not right, no matter how one justifies that “necessary evil”.” Anders looked at the elf with renewed respect. “I knew I like you for some reason.” he commented. Wynne frowned. “You let your own experiences cloud your judgement on this, Warden. Mages are not like elves bound to slavery. But I digress, I’m not here to fight with you.” Darrian nodded his head. “Why are you here then? Maybe I can help you out with something?” he asked.

Wynne sat down on one of the crates and looked at the battlements in the distance. “Well, there might be something I’d ask you to look into, if you have the time.” She looked back at Darrian and carried on. “I was about to meet a fellow mage by the name of Ines. She’s a gardener… Or “Botanist”, as she likes to address herself as.” the elf crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And how come you couldn’t find her?” he asked. “She travelled to the Wending Wood, and I assume she’s still there, elbow deep in mud to find some rare plant or the other.” Wynne answered. “But I do not wish to leave without her. She might be many things but unreasonable, and maybe a voice of reason is what we will need more than anything on the Conclave.” “Would you like me to look for her?” Darrian asked. “I don’t suppose you have much free time my dear, but if you happen to go to the Wending Wood and cross paths with Ines, tell her to meet me in Cumberland. She’ll have some time to catch up and get there before the whole ordeal begins.” Wynne concluded. Darrian flashed a smile at the mage and nodded. “I’ll send her after you if I find her.” his smile turned a bit bitter as he lowered his arms to hang beside him. “It was good to see you, Wynne. Safe travels!”

After they left the Chantry’s courtyard – Darrian couldn’t find any jobs they would want to take besides one that was about to catch a few runaway mages that made Anders throw a tantrum – they headed to the city gates to leave Amaranthine and return to the Keep with the supplies they bought the day before. The same city guard from before approached them from the alley, and gestured for Darrian to follow. Nathaniel furrowed his brow. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Darrian looked up at him. “What do you suggest then?” The man rubbed his eyelids. “Go and hear what he wants. I’ll be following you closely, to be able to help if it turns out to be a trap.” The elf nodded approvingly and went over to the armoured figure.

“I have news, Warden-Commander.” he greeted the elf. Darrian kept his hands close to his swords, and stared at the messenger. “The ones who are planning your fall are gathering at Old Stark’s farm.” the armoured man said then left. Darrian lowered his hands, and looked curiously at Nathaniel, who appeared behind him from the shadows. “This sounds like a trap.” the rogue stated. “How about we walk right into it?” the elf asked. “Have you ever walked into a bear trap, Commander?” Nathaniel asked back. “Literally or figuratively?” Darrian went on. “Walking into a bear trap will hurt, I know. But as long as it hurts me, nobody else will have to get hurt. If it makes any sense.” Nathaniel shook his head. “I never thought you had the aspiration of becoming a saint, Commander.” Darrian scoffed. “Nate, I’m an elf. Even if I would be anything like a saint, my name wouldn’t make it to the Chant of Light.” Not that he would want it to. The whole ordeal with being the “Hero of Ferelden” was more than enough. Darrian felt a sort of resignation to the fact that his stomach will cramp every time someone addresses him as such. He never felt like a hero, but it couldn’t be helped now. “What are we waiting for?” he asked. “We know where the conspirators are gathering, or plan to ambush us. Let’s show up and spoil the party for them!”

* * *

The old farmhouse was similar to the one they saw when fighting with the mercenaries a few weeks ago. Darrian and company was hiding nearby among the trees and bushes, and tried to measure their enemy. “The messenger didn’t lie. Bann Esmerelle’s here, along with half of the nobility and a few hired blades.” Nathaniel reported to Darrian after he returned from scouting the area. “What do we do?” Sigrun asked. “We could reason with this Esmerelle person… Or we could just leave. Both would be good.” Anders suggested. Darrian shook his head. “No, we can’t reason with her. She wants me dead and probably cross with Nathaniel as well, for siding with me instead of her.” “What about leaving then?” the mage asked. “That won’t solve anything.” Nathaniel answered. “I know Esmerelle, and she won’t stop until she gets what she wants. Namely us. Preferably dead.” They looked at the building in front of them. “Let’s get this over with.” Darrian sighed, and walked towards the entrance.

Of course, they tried to reason with the traitors. Darrian wasn’t going to just jump at them and slaughter them without hearing them out first. Nathaniel used the time Bann Esmerelle’s long rant about Darrian killing “the good Arl” and similar nonsense gave them to measure the enemy’s numbers and positions. They were prepared. The Wardens were only a group of four; the conspirators outnumbered them by at least three. Nathaniel frowned. When will they have a fair fight without being heavily outnumbered? He saw Sigrun slowly sneaking away and positioning herself to a spot where she could flank one of the enemy fighters with Darrian. The elf listened to the gathered nobility’s ridiculing and threats with a derisive smile on his face, knowing very well that their little game ends here. Anders wrapped his fingers around his staff, looking at Nathaniel curiously. They were waiting for Esmerelle’s party to make the first move. Nathaniel was surprised when the Bann addressed him. “And how could you ally yourself with the very man who killed your father, Nathaniel? I thought you are better than that!” For a moment, Nathaniel felt the urge to tell her to go to the Void, but then he saw something from the corner of his eye. “No matter. You all will pay for what you have done!” That signalled the end of the discussion for Esmerelle and her goons.

Nathaniel pushed Darrian to the floor before the arrow that was meant for the elf landed in his shoulder. “Ow! Blighted bastards!” Howe cursed and stood up to return fire. His wound hurt and hindered him but not enough to render his whole arm useless. He shot but missed the figure partly concealed in the shadows at the far end of the barn they were in. Anders sent a fireball to the assailant’s direction, shaking his singed hand afterwards. He was never too good with fire spells.

Sigrun buried one of her daggers in the back of the man they named Ox. The dwarf found it amusing, for she thought he maybe got his name after the slow mental capacity humans associated with beasts of burden, rather than his impressive physique. Sigrun let out a cheerful laughter while she taunted the armoured man.

Darrian pulled his knees under himself only to be kicked in the ribs by Esmerelle. He barely felt it under the armour, but for a very short moment, he wanted to stay down. Die. Be forgotten and over with. Then he remembered the reason he fought for: Because if he didn’t, _they_ will win. Vaughan will get his revenge from beyond the grave. The elves cowed into submission by the humans will be right, and all he did until now was for naught. Duncan’s sacrifice would be for naught. He shut the nasty insults the enraged woman threw at him out, and shut the compassionate side of him, which understood her anger out as well and drew his weapons to challenge Esmerelle to a deadly dance.

* * *

 

The battle only lasted for a few minutes, but seemed like it was raging on for hours. Nathaniel’s arm burned and his fingers bled from shooting arrows. His scout uniform’s sleeve was drenched with blood. He felt a surge of energy that soothed his pain and healed his wounds. He nodded gratefully to Anders, who froze another assassin with Winter’s Grasp. Soon, the only ones standing were the Wardens and Bann Esmerelle. The woman and the Warden-Commander still circled around each other, stabbing and cutting, swinging blades and blocking. Sigrun put her hand on Nathaniel’s arm, when she saw the man moving towards the pair. It needed to be done between the two of them.

Both of them had multiple cuts and were at their wits’ end, but they refused to yield. Only one of them would walk out of this barn, there was no other solution. Esmerelle swung her blade to cut the insolent elf in two, but Darrian blocked. Again. He felt like his arms were about to break into small pieces. She was stronger than she looked. Or maybe her armour was of a magical nature, Darrian didn’t know. The slightly taller human pushed the elf a few feet away by sheer force, and she drew her blade away to strike at him again. Darrian always felt that big, two handed swords had a great disadvantage by being heavy and clumsy. He used the time it took Esmerelle to lift her sword to shower her with a flurry of blows. The Bann couldn’t hit him this time. As she fell to the ground, Darrian turned his head to his friends. His vision blurred and he dropped to his knees, the pain of his injuries suddenly starting to get to him.

All three of his companions rushed towards the fallen commander. Anders kneeled beside Darrian and lifted his head up. Sigrun went to loot the corpses, and Nathaniel stood frozen above the earthly remains of Bann Esmerelle. He couldn’t say it aloud, but he was grateful for Darrian to have spared him from having to kill his father’s lover himself. Darrian was back at his senses a few moments later and slowly stood up. “Are you all right?” he asked Nathaniel. The archer nodded. “I’m good, commander.” Anders stepped beside him and flicked the broken arrow still buried in his shoulder. “Maker forsaken son of a nug!” Nathaniel cried out “What the Void was that for?” Anders grinned. “Son of a nug? I think you spend too much time with Sigrun and Oghren.” His grin waned. “Besides, you’re not well. I have to get this arrowhead out if you don’t want to lose your arm, Nate.” Howe shooed him away. “You can do it back in the Keep. Now let’s get out of here, before anyone stumbles upon this mess.” Darrian nodded, but he went to see what Sigrun found. The dwarf was kneeling on the ground next to a dead assassin. Darrian’s heart skipped a beat. “This one has interesting markings.” Sigrun mused, pointing at the man’s tattooed face. “They were Antivan Crows.” Darrian said on a tone that he hoped was neutral. Anders appeared next to him, and poked the corpse with his boot. “How do you know about the Crows?” Darrian shook his head. “Long story. I know that they are persistent, and expensive. And they have distinctive tattoos. That’s all.” He couldn’t speak about Zevran. Also, he couldn’t get the thought of him out of his head. What if the assassins were sent by... No, why would he do that? Darrian shook his head, and tried to think clearly. “I need some air...” he muttered, then left his companions in the barn.

* * *

That same day they received another alarming report of missing caravans in the Wending Wood. Darrian cursed himself for neglecting the matter for so long, but he didn’t really have a choice than to wait at least another day. He paced to and fro in his quarters, trying to figure out what to do next, when he heard a low thump and a loud “meow”. The elf turned to the window and saw the Keep’s own feline knight, now sitting majestically on Darrian’s desk. “Hey!” he shooed the cat from the reports it was occupying. “Go back to your own quarters, Ser Pounce-a-lot! Anders is probably looking for you!” Ser Pounce-a-lot just turned his head and attention to cleaning a spot of his fur. Darrian patted the cat, and went to see how his companions were doing, hoping he can find Anders and convince him to remove his pet from the commander’s quarters. Of course, the mage was in the infirmary, arguing with the surgeon about some things Darrian didn’t really understand. Their speech had too many magical and scientific jargon. He stopped a few feet away from the disputing parties and cleared his throat. The surgeon turned to him and bowed her head, then cast one last disapproving glance at Anders before leaving. “Commander!” the mage nodded to Darrian before returning to make a healing poultice. “How are the others?” Darrian asked. “Well, if by ‘others’ you mean Nathaniel, he’s still cursing like a dwarf, so I guess he’s fine now. I was able to remove the arrowhead from his shoulder, but couldn’t heal it fully. Actually I’m making this poultice for him.” Anders answered.

“How long until he can use a bow again?” Darrian inquired. “Depends on the amount of time I can spend with him, using healing magic. I can fix his arm by tomorrow, if needed.” the mage responded. “Very well.” the Warden-Commander nodded and turned to leave. “I’ll check on him and see if he is willing to come with me. We’ll need to clear the caravan route through the Wending Wood.” “Do you require me to come along?” Anders queried. Darrian stopped in his tracks, and turned back. “It would be useful to have you around. It’s not an order though. You can stay. I’m already sorry for dragging you through Amaranthine, while you wanted to fill the Keep’s potion stock.” Anders smiled. “I’ll go with you then. Maker knows, you get into all kinds of trouble, and a healer always comes in handy.” Darrian mirrored his smile and went to see how Nathaniel was doing. The archer sat on a cot with only a bandage on his upper body, and was grumpier than usual. His wounded arm was tied into place, and it seemed to annoy him. Darrian’s nose was hit by the scent of elfroot and other herbs. “How are you holding up?” he addressed Nathaniel, who turned his steely gaze to him. “I can’t wait for this to end. I don’t mind the pain, but the boredom kills me.” Darrian permitted himself a quiet laughter. “Well, I can always bring some cards.” Nathaniel laughed. “I doubt you’re here for a game of Wicked Grace, commander.” “True.” Darrian replied “You remember the reports of missing caravans and bandit attacks?” Nathaniel nodded his head. “Unfortunately.” “We should look into it. The sooner the better.” Howe exhaled sharply and frowned at his arm. “I’m afraid I can’t come with you this time.” Darrian patted Nathaniel on his good shoulder. “You can terrorize new recruits and argue with Seneschal Varel as long as I’m away.” Anders appeared next to them, healing poultice in hand. “Excuse me, coming through!” Nathaniel’s frown turned to sheer disgust when he saw the suspicious material the mage applied to a clean set of bandages. “Is this really necessary?” he asked. “Shut it, and let me do my job! Unless you want to sit around for weeks until you heal fully.” Anders replied. He changed the bandages on Nathaniel’s wounds and cast yet another healing spell on it. “There. That should do it." Darrian left them, and went to the kitchen, to see how the cook’s work is going, and to steal a bottle of wine. Not that he wanted to get drunk, but he felt like he could use a drink.

Back in his quarters, he found Ser Pounce-a-lot sleeping on his pillow. He sat beside the cat and opened the bottle. _It’s time to call it a day._ Darrian thought. He was around half of the second glass when he heard knocking on the door. The elf went to answer, and saw Anders standing in the doorway. “I’m looking for my cat.” he said. Darrian silently moved away and let him in, pointing to the bed’s direction, where the aforementioned feline napped. “Unbelievable.” the mage commented. “I don’t mind him.” The elf shrugged. “At least one of us can have a peaceful night’s sleep.” Anders leaned to the wall. “You sound like you envy him for that.” “Maybe.” Darrian drank his wine and put his glass on the table. “You can leave him here, you know. He doesn’t bother me.” Anders looked at the cat and sighed. “Well, I guess you’re right. I wouldn’t have the heart to wake him up anyway. But please let him out if he scratches the door!” Darrian nodded. He opened the door and ushered Anders out. He felt a little electric jolt as he touched the mage’s arm, and he wasn’t sure if it was some kind of magic or his mind was playing tricks with him because of the wine. His palm felt warm and he could feel where the little pointy studs on Anders’ warden armour touched his skin. Darrian lay down on the bed, listening to Ser Pounce-a-lot’s purring, and tried to chase away the warm feeling and the thoughts of what would Anders’ skin feel like under his touch. He groaned indignantly and turned to face the wall. He cursed Zevran for leaving, and himself for not being able to move on… and for having inappropriate thoughts about one of his companions. Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it finally claimed him, Darrian’s dreams were restless.

* * *

The next morning was busy for all of them. Nathaniel wanted to join the company, but his injury still pained him. Darrian assured him that they will tell what was going on after they came back from the trip. “Just make sure the Keep is still here when we get back!” Darrian said to Nathaniel as a goodbye. “You can count on me commander!” the archer reached out and shook the elf’s hand. As they left the shadow of Vigil’s Keep, Darrian glanced behind at his companions. Anders was talking with Justice, who substituted Nathaniel; Sigrun just stared into the distance, probably trying to shut them out. Even Ser Pounce-a-lot was hiding inside Anders’ hood instead of perching on his shoulder like it was usual. Even the bantering was forced between the mage and the dwarf. “Just tell me if you see any dangerous bushes, Sigrun.” Anders jested, but got no reaction. Not much later they entered the outskirts of the Wending Wood, and were attacked by the most curious thing all of them – maybe except for Darrian – ever seen: A raging tree.

After nearly getting impaled on its roots and being beaten to a pulp by its branches, they somehow managed to defeat it. Darrian was searching among the – now harmless – Sylvan’s leaves for anything they can use later while Anders was still processing the absurdity of a rage demon possessing a tree of all things, when he felt a nudge on his hip. “Hey, I saw no dangerous bushes, but this was one hell of a vicious tree.” the mage gave the dwarf a deadpan look. “Don’t tell me you were waiting for something like this to happen so you can throw this comeback at me.” Sigrun made a crooked grin. “You expect too much from me.” Anders mirrored her expression. “Well, I know potential when I see it.” “Maker, get a room!” Darrian yelled out from the bush. “Oooh, someone’s being jealous!” the mage yelled back. “You wish!” The elf’s red head appeared above the leaves again. Though he had to admit that he would indeed be jealous if there was anything indicating that the two of his companions have some sort of intimate relationship. And he felt bad about it. After all, who was he to judge? Anders wasn’t his partner, neither was Sigrun. Darrian found the core of the Sylvan, and carved it out with his dagger. “What in the name of Andraste you’re doing?” Anders asked, climbing up to the dead tree demon next to Darrian. The elf showed him his find. “Heartwood. I hear it’s valuable as a crafting material. Maybe if I bring this back to the Keep, Master Wade will get out of my hair.” Anders snickered “Last time you gave him those drake scales he cursed you to the Void and back.” Darrian grinned. “I know; that’s why I bring him something new this time. If he thinks ore is boring and he has more dragon scales than he can use in one lifetime, he’ll appreciate this. One way or another.”

The trip to the heart of the forest was uneventful, yet the foreboding feeling they had never left. Just as they reached a turn on the road, they saw a few carts turned over, crates littering the area and bodies everywhere. “Not to state the obvious, but this looks like the caravan that went missing not long ago.” Anders broke the tense silence that was coupled by the crackling of the still raging fire, blocking their path to the east. Some bandits were scavenging among the ruins, and one of them spotted the approaching Wardens. “It’s an elf! He’s probably working with the other one!” he yelled and shot at them. “Wait...What?” Darrian asked while dodging the arrow. Anders froze one of the bandits with Winter’s Grasp while Sigrun ran after the fleeing humans with a cheerful laughter. Justice remained silent as he dealt death. He spoke only after the last bandit has fallen. “We maybe took too much time in dallying with unimportant things.” Darrian felt a pang in his heart. Was he responsible for what happened to this caravan? Maybe if he looked into the matter sooner... “You... you’re right. We should move on, and find out what’s going on here.” He swallowed the dark thoughts that threatened to surface from the depths of his mind, where he usually exiled them every morning before he went to do his daily chores. “One of these bastards mentioned another elf around here. Maybe we can get some information from them if we find them.” Darrian mused. “Well, what are we waiting for?” Anders asked, though his sarcasm wasn’t lost on the commander. “Lead on, O Valiant One!” Sigrun looked at him and asked “Are you surely not a bard?” Anders scoffed. “Maybe if I wasn’t born a mage. Alas, the Maker had something different in mind.”

* * *

 

Darrian was climbing a hill to look around the surrounding area. “Bandits, Sylvans, something attacking caravans and even a plant-obsessed mage. We have a lot on our plates right now.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “See anything interesting?” he heard Anders’ voice from the base of the hill. He looked around, and saw the ruins of an old mansion or temple- he couldn’t decide or recognize anything else of the ruin besides it being of Tevinter in origin, probably from the days of the old Imperium – and something like a Dalish camp on top of it, looming over a chasm. He didn’t see any movement, which was suspicious, but Darrian despite being an elf, was unfamiliar with the customs and daily routines of the Dalish. Opposite of the silent camp, and several miles away, he saw a cluster of trees and some camping material, which he wanted to examine closer, hoping that the camp might belong to the mage they were looking for. He climbed down and told his companions of their options. “We have two locations we should look into. To the east, there’s a campsite hidden amongst the trees, and I found a Dalish camp near us to the west. Maybe if there are other elves here, they might know something about what happened to the caravans.” Anders made an indignant groan. “So it’s mountain climbing, no matter what... Splendid.” Darrian sighed. “I’m sorry, but we have to. I know it’s hard terrain, and we’ll stop for the night if we find a suitable place to set up camp. Just hold on a little longer, will you?” Anders shrugged. “I guess I have no other choice.” He didn’t want to tell the reason why he hated climbing mountains, but he didn’t want to sound like a whining child again. “Shall we get a move on? I never was much a man for nature. The sooner we’re out of these filthy woods, the better.”

They skirted the hills to get to the only bridge leading to the other side with the ruins and the Dalish camp, when they saw a figure running towards them. Darrian placed his hand on his sword, but didn’t draw it. As the man got closer, it became clear that he was running away from something. Darrian stepped in the way of the fleeing human and stopped him. “Wait, why are you running? Who’s after you?” The bandit looked back then to Darrian. “Let me go, I have to get out of here!” Darrian’s grip tightened. “We might be able to help you, just calm down and tell us what’s going on!” The man shook his head. “We only wanted some easy coin with the caravans... We didn’t do it, just took what was lying around... It’s the elf...” he trailed off, and looked back to the distance, and all of them heard some creaking sound, like the one old trees make when the wind sweeps through them. “She’s here! Let me go!” and with that he broke free of the Warden-Commander’s grasp and fled. “Who are you, and why are you interfering with my business?” a female voice demanded and Darrian looked up to the hill to see its owner. It was indeed an elven woman, looking like one of the sages of the Dalish. “We mean no harm.” Darrian replied. “That is left to be seen.” the woman stated, eyeing Anders and Justice suspiciously. Darrian was glad that the dark full plate and helmet covered the rotting husk of the poor former Warden, whose body the spirit now occupied. Maybe seeing an undead would cause some unexpected complications. “We are Grey Wardens, and we came to the forest to investigate.” Recognition seemed to light the woman’s eyes. “Grey Wardens, you say? Then your matter is with the darkspawn, not me. Very well. Stay out of my way!” she said then cast a spell none of them recognised. After she disappeared, the Wardens exchanged a glance. Something was very, very wrong.

* * *

They continued on their way undisturbed, but Darrian was still thinking about the weird Dalish woman they met. Something was off with her, and he felt a sense of familiarity he couldn’t grasp. His thoughts wandered back to a dark place, and he shook his head to detour them. “Is everything all right?” Darrian heard Anders ask. “Not quite.” the elf answered briefly. “You think she was behind the attacks?” the mage asked again, keeping up with Darrian’s pace. “I’m afraid so, but we don’t have any evidence. She maybe just warned us to stay away from the Dalish camp.” Even Darrian knew it sounded like wishful thinking. “Let’s just find Wynne’s friend and send her away from here. If she’s still alive even...” Anders nodded his head. “Right. First things first, isn’t it?” Darrian felt like he’s doing something the wrong way again. “Do you think we should focus on something else?” he asked on a bit sharper tone than he intended. “No. I just think that while we’re on the trail of the old witch’s friend, we should see if there’s any sign of what or who caused the disturbance with the caravans. It can be bandits, or darkspawn. It’s not necessarily connected to the angry elf lady we met.” Darrian felt his anger vanishing. “Point taken.” he commented.

After wandering in the forest for what seemed like an eternity, they found the tent and some sacks left lying around, but no sign of anyone. Darrian didn’t give up and pressed on, to be greeted by an angry voice a few miles away from the camp. “Hey you, elf! You’re standing in my soil!” Darrian looked around but saw nothing but trees. “Erm… I’m sorry?” he said sheepishly. “Then don’t stand around like cattle, get the Void out of it!” an older woman appeared from behind the tree. Darrian took a few steps backwards. “You’re still inside it.” the mysterious stranger deadpanned. Darrian grumbled something under his nose and trotted a few feet away from the woman. His companions caught up with him, also causing the strange person to throw a fit, this time about Anders stepping into “her” soil. “All right, all right, I’ll get out from your bloody soil. No need to tear my face off, old woman. Sheesh!” The blond mage grumped then stood beside Darrian. “Are you Ines, the botanist?” the elf asked after the commotion with grains and soils was over. “I am. What, are you here to drag me back to the so-called civilisation? No way until I found what I’ve been looking for!” Darrian sighed. “Wynne sent me. She wants you to go to the Conclave of Magi held in Cumberland.” The old witch scoffed. “Well, at least she’s not nagging me to train drooling apprentices.” “I guess we all know that if there would be such a thing as a nagging tournament, Wynne would be a champion.” Darrian answered, making Anders suppress a snicker. “But we’re only here to give you this message. We have other, more pressing matters to attend to. However, I need to get word back to Wynne of your departure.” “Well then…” Ines crossed her arms “You know; you seem to be the goody-two-shoes type. I tell you what: Find me a handful of seeds of Northern Prickleweed, and I’ll pack my things up and go after Wynne. I was trying to find that blighted plant since forever, and I’m not leaving without it!” Darrian exchanged glances with Anders, then looked at Sigrun, who shrugged and shook her head. Justice remained a silent observer. “All right.” he shrugged as well. “How does this northern prickleweed looks like?” Ines glared at him then she rubbed her nose bridge. “It is a spiky, thorny plant that grows on rocky soil. It also has big leaves, similar to Elfroot.” Darrian nodded. “Right. If we come across it, we’ll have to collect its seeds and bring them back to you, so you will leave?” he asked. Ines nodded. “I’d give a pile of gold for a whole specimen, but seeds are enough if I want to grow some of them myself. Now off you go!” After they were done speaking, the party went on their way back to the woods.

Night was getting closer, and they still haven’t find anything that remotely resembled the plant Ines described to them. That, or they were horribly lousy at identifying plants. “That’s it. This is how archaeologists of a later Age will find us. Died of exhaustion while trying to find a weed with the most ridiculous name ever.” Anders grumbled. “Just imagine it: our earthly remains among a pile of various weevil-ridden weed, our faces contorted into an eternal scream of frustration.” Sigrun looked up at the man and added “We won’t have faces then. Or anything remarkable about us but our bones.” Anders gave her a dirty look. “Why do you have to ruin my rant with your reason?” he complained. “This “task” is not going to take us further to accomplish our goal.” Justice inserted into the conversation, making Darrian look back at him. “It does… Though I admit that it feels rather futile.” After another hour of searching through the flora in vain, they decided to set up camp and call it a day. They felt the presence of darkspawn nearby, so Darrian made them omit lighting a bonfire, and they only set up one tent. “Justice doesn’t need to sleep, so he’ll be guarding the camp along with me.” he stated. “Sigrun will replace me after midnight.” His companions didn’t protest for what he was grateful. They spent the night silently staring into the darkness, but no darkspawn seemed to notice them. Darrian was almost disappointed. After a long and uneventful watch, Sigrun emerged from the tent and ushered Darrian inside. “Get some sleep before we move on, commander!” she grumbled, still being half-asleep herself. Darrian didn’t say a word, just slipped inside the tent and collapsed onto the bedroll next to Anders. His slumber was soon interrupted by the mage’s thrashing and turning. Darrian reached out and caressed Anders’ face, then nudged him gently, trying to get him out from his nightmare.

 

* * *

 

He was back in the bad place again. A hand clad in iron pressed him down to the dirt, while another was hitting him. Voices from the past told him that he’s something wicked. Something that shouldn’t be. His curse is the sign of the Maker’s hatred. He is not even human, but something dangerous. A small, dark and damp cell was where he will live the rest of his life, ridden with filth and insects. And _they_ always came and tormented him when they thought they can get away with it. Shackled to the wall, he couldn’t even defend himself. He was declared a maleficar and was sentenced to death at the stake. Suddenly the cell disappeared, and he was in the middle of a square in his hometown, tied to a pole. People he knew long ago threw obscenities and insults at him. He saw the fear and disgust on his father’s features. Their neighbours threw rotten fruits at him and called him a witch, demanded the Templars to burn him alive. Greagoir appeared out of the crowd with a torch in his hand. “You had it coming.” he deadpanned. Anders was waiting for the flames to consume him, but suddenly the mob demanding his death turned into a horde of darkspawn, Greagoir’s features took a reptilian twist and he began to grow. He grew out his armour, grew bigger than the houses in the hamlet, he grew until he became a dragon. Anders tried to break free, but his hands were still tied, and he couldn’t even move or look away. The Templar-turned-dragon opened its mouth and took a deep, hissing breath and released the fires of hell onto him. It always ended like this: Anders dying on the stake, or in the dragon’s fire, the last thing he felt was the stench of his own burning flesh and hearing his own screams of agony. This time however, the nightmare changed. From the endless sea of flames, a figure in grey and blue emerged, sheltering him from the fire. He slew the dragon and freed him from the chains he was bound with. “It was only a bad dream.” he said on his soft, deep voice that soothed even the most disturbed of feelings.

Anders opened his eyes to see Darrian’s silhouette in the dim moonlight. “It was only a bad dream.” he whispered, while still caressing the man’s face. “I don’t want to talk about it…” Anders rasped and turned away from the elf. “You don’t have to.” Darrian whispered. He patted Anders’ arm and went back to sleep. “But sometimes it helps, you know.” Anders sighed. “I know. But not right now.” He had a hard time falling asleep again, but he managed.

Darrian woke up at dawn to find Anders cuddling with him, long legs entangled with his own. The man’s body radiated heat like a furnace, and Darrian found himself nestling against him involuntarily to fight the cold of the morning. He wished they could share many mornings like this…maybe without their armour and clothes. It was no use to denying it anymore: Darrian wanted Anders, and according to their awkward little talk that ended in a kiss of sorts, the feeling was mutual. He still felt guilty as well, for Zevran never left his thoughts even if he was physically in another country, thousands of miles away. As much as Darrian understood his lover’s need for getting rid of the Crows, he felt betrayed by being left behind. Nearing the time Zevran left for Antiva, they had more fights than usual. “We’re making a fuss more than we’re making love” as Zevran told him the night he got Alistair’s letter. “Maybe actually doing something instead of laying around, being confined into a hovel with your father and cousin and me would do good for you, mi amore.” Darrian wanted to believe it, but after he got Zevran’s letter, he wasn’t sure. He wanted to be with his lover, go with him, help him in whatever crazy plan he concocted to get rid of the ever-present threat of the same assassin guild that raised and trained him, but instead he was left behind to play soldier again for a bunch of humans. No matter that said bunch of humans had his best friend as their king. Another human and his wriggling chased his gloomy thoughts of Zevran away with sending the same warmth and small electric jolt through his body he felt more frequently every time they were close. Darrian cleared his throat and freed himself from Anders’ embrace before the whole situation became embarrassing for both of them.

“Morning, commander!” Sigrun greeted him as he left the tent. “Nothing came our way through the night, but I’m sure you know that.” Darrian smiled and sat down on a tree trunk to wash his face before they moved on. Anders rushed out of the tent not much later, and disappeared in the bushes. “He either saw the dead and butchered gerbil his cat caught and now is throwing up, or tries to do something with that morning wood he had…” Sigrun mused. “Either way, we’ll have to wait a little before wrapping up.” Darrian’s face was red, Justice made a disapproving grunt, but none of them went to see what the mage was up to. “This place is a bloody deathtrap.” he grumbled after emerging from the thicket he dove in a few minutes earlier. “Next time I have to go into the bushes to answer nature’s call, you’re coming with me.” Sigrun laughed. “Oh, no I won’t. But I think the commander would gladly go and hold it for you if you ask nicely.” Anders made a hand gesture towards the dwarf that was considered impolite in all levels of society. “Oh come on, I wasn’t the one going all cuddly with him!” Sigrun riposted while gathering her equipment. “I’m sitting right here, you know.” Darrian commented aridly. “And I think we all going to end up in the bushes, because we still have to find Ines’ northern prickleweed.” “Aw fuck.” Anders groaned. “I thought that was only a part of my nightmare.”

The day went by with the company of Wardens wading through the undergrowth in search for the northern prickleweed they damned to the Void and back at least a thousand times by now. Even Justice seemed annoyed by the task though he rarely voiced his thoughts unless asked directly. And asked he was by Anders, who wanted to have a conversation partner other than Sigrun. The dwarf incessantly made fun of his morning run and even managed to coax Ser Pounce-a-lot to travel on her shoulder for a while. The air was tense and they expected trouble, so Darrian kept his eyes and ears open, avoiding the banter. They finally encountered the band of darkspawn they were sensing the day before. A short but violent battle later Darrian was looting the corpses for anything they can use, when he found a trinket that seemed of elven work. “Well, what the Void…” he muttered and held the little jewel up to examine it.

 

* * *

“Please tell me that you’ve found it!” Anders whined from several feet away while Darrian was neck-deep in the bushes again, looking for the plant all of them would surely damn out of existence if possible. After a few minutes of muddling with leaves and thorns and the occasional angry beetle, the elf emerged from the undergrowth empty handed. Same was the case for Sigrun, who came out from under a heavily overgrown wild rose. “We’ll get lost if it goes on like this.” she grumped, and dusted off her armour. That was when they heard the familiar voice saying “And one would think that Grey Wardens were supposed to fight the Blight, not wander around aimlessly in a forest.” They turned to the owner of the voice in unison, hands on staves and blades only to relax when they saw the Dalish woman from before. “What are you still doing here?” her voice sounded impatient, still seething from the anger Darrian felt familiar and repulsing at the same time. “We’re minding our own business.” He deadpanned. “By the way, crashed any hapless merchants’ wagons lately?” Anders prodded the elf, but only got a glare that could freeze like Winter’s Grasp as an answer. “Those “hapless merchants” kidnapped my sister.” the woman hissed back, and it made Darrian shake his head in disbelief. “Why would a merchant caravan kidnap an elf? What would they accomplish with it?” The woman’s piercing gaze now darted over to him. “Such ignorance.” she spat. “You spew their lies. But what did I expect from a flat-ear who could not even find a weed in a forest?” Darrian felt heat rising inside along with his blood-pressure. But before he could riposte with anything, the strange elven woman cast one last disapproving glance at them and stated “I give you one last warning: Stay out of my business, and get out of my forest!” before disappearing again. “My forest.” Anders mimicked the Dalish elf’s tone “Well sorry, I didn’t know that she was the Queen of Some Thicket around here.” He let out a desperate sigh. “She could have shown us that blighted weed at least…”

 

Though none of them was much of a believer, they all thanked the Maker when – after nearly another full day of wading through the undergrowth – they found the northern prickleweed Ines was looking for and harvested some of the plant’s seeds. “…And if she says this wasn’t even the plant she wanted, I’ll be sure to introduce her to the pointy end of my accessories.” Sigrun vowed. Darrian felt relieved, and he also found a deposit of granite he could point Voldrik and his workers to. If – of course – they can deal with the seemingly unreasonable Dalish camping nearby. Darrian also wondered what happened to the woman, and found himself sympathising with her. After all, wasn’t he anything but the same when he stormed the Arl’s estate in search for Shianni and Nesiara, and the other women taken from the Alienage? The images still haunted his dreams, making him hearing the screams of all of whom he couldn’t save, same as he heard the Archdemon. “Are you all right?” he felt a hand nudge him and he looked up into Anders’ questioning gaze. “Yes, I’m just… thinking.” he answered, turning back to the distance, where the old Tevene ruin and the tops of the elves’ tents could be seen. “Shouldn’t we go?” the human kept on dragging him out from his thoughts. Darrian nodded. “Yes. Let’s get this back to Ines, and escort her out from the woods. I don’t trust our Queen of the Shrubs to let the mage be if encountered.”

It happened like that. Ines didn’t want to be escorted out though, and she was certain she could manage to evade the patrol routes of the Dalish on her own. Darrian let her go, though he was worried. He made Ines promise to send word if she reached Cumberland somehow. “Isn’t it cute how he worries about everyone?” Anders jested, but neither Justice nor Sigrun were in the mood for it. Darrian haven’t utter a word ever since they parted ways with Ines, so the silence became tense after a while. They climbed the mountain following a well-treaded path looking over the bigger part of the woods, and noticed some ancient magical circle of sorts around some monoliths Anders wanted to take a closer look at. “I say let’s find this elf and see to the bottom of this story with her sister.” Darrian stated on a stern tone. “Everything else can wait.” suddenly his usually doubtful demeanour changed into something both man and dwarf would imagine someone with the title of “warden-commander” would have. Darrian marched on, determined to confront the strange elven variation of a “witch of the wilds”.

 

* * *

 

They came across a pit filled with blood and corpses. Anders made a sound that indicated he was about to throw up while Sigrun just frowned. “What in the name of the Maker…” Darrian whispered as he also covered his nose and mouth from the stench. Justice went forward and kneeled down at the edge of the hole, eyeing the mangled remains for a while before rising again. “Looks like the handiwork of darkspawn.” he stated. “You did feel the presence of them before. Maybe we are close to their lair.” Darrian nodded then left the gruesome site, his companions at his heel.

They in fact encountered a bigger company of darkspawn led by an emissary that caused them a minor headache before they could get rid of it. As Darrian and his friends searched the remains, he found another elven trinket. That was more than a little bit suspicious. They came across more bodies and some giant spiders, and finally heard someone call for help. Darrian glanced at his company and nodded his head towards the source of the calls. They hoped it wasn’t another talking darkspawn pulling a trick.

Instead of talking darkspawn, they found a ghoul. Anders took one glance at him and knew he was beyond the capabilities of any kind of healing magic, the taint already consuming what little was left of the man’s sanity. Darrian questioned the ghoul, and it had some interesting answers. It was indeed not the merchants’ fault that the elf’s sister went missing. According to the ghoul, it was a company of darkspawn that attacked the camp, killed everyone with weapons they took from his companions and himself, then left them scattered around. “So you say she killed all those people because of a misunderstanding?” Anders asked. “Maker, that’s terrible! We have to stop her before she kills someone again!” Darrian shot an approving glance at him, but otherwise made no comment. As Anders was looking at the wretched remains of the former human in front of them, he found himself realising that this will be his fate as well. Unless he dies sooner on the horns of an ogre, or a sword of a Hurlock or Templar. He hated Darrian in that moment for making him believe that the Wardens could be an escape from the Circle. It was worse in some aspects, and the mage hated himself as well for being such a fool to fall for this trap. Eventually Darrian drew his dagger and put the poor soul out of misery, ordering his company to move on. Anders kept on glaring at the elf’s back, millions of questions running through his head.

The walk up the mountain was tedious, and all of them felt the need for a short stop before entering what seemed to be the remains of a Dalish camp. Swords bows and axes were scattered around, some of them still rusty with dried blood and nearly all dwellings destroyed save for one more-or-less intact red tent. On the far end of the plateau they saw a row of makeshift graves and the woman they have met twice before. “I told you get out of here!” she turned towards them when she heard them approaching. “I’ll not go down without a fight!” Darrian raised his hand to signal stop for his company and to soothe the other elf. “I’m just here to talk.” he stated. “Talk.” she spat. “It wasn’t the humans who took your sister.” Darrian started but was interrupted by her. “Lies! I recognize a human crime when I see it!” she turned towards them, readying a spell to cast at the intruders. “No. She was taken by darkspawn. They murdered the humans and took their weapons. They did this to your camp, not the merchants.” Darrian tried to sound calm, but he wasn’t sure if he could keep arguing with the completely irrational and vengeful elf. “Darkspawn are mindless.” the woman scoffed at him. “You are either this ignorant or just trying to trick me.” Darrian lowered his hands. “I guess we had a bad start. How about we go back to the beginning? I’m warden-commander Darrian. My company and I are here to see what causes the disappearances of merchants and caravans in this area.” “What do I care who you are and what do you want?” the woman pulled her nose at him. “But if you really insist on useless pleasantries… I am Velanna, Keeper of my clan… Or at least I was until your alleged darkspawn murdered everyone.”

She told them what happened, but no amount of Darrian’s reasoning could convince her that her sister was taken by the darkspawn. “I can’t believe it.” she deflected the warden-commander’s reasoning with stubbornness again. “Why would mindless brutes like darkspawn want her?” Sigrun stepped forward and looked at Velanna with a grim expression. “They take the women so they can turn them into Broodmothers. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen to your sister. Not even to your sworn enemy.” For a moment it seemed like the elf believes them, but then she shook her head. “No. You’re lying.” Anders threw his hands to the air while Darrian dragged his fingers across his face leaving red marks after the iron tips of his gauntlet. “What would it take you to believe us?” he asked a bit more angrily than he wanted. Sadly, that was only oil to the fire. “Why would I believe anything you say? You’re a willing pawn for your _shemlen_ masters, allying yourself with filth like them. My sister was kidnapped and probably held captive by their kind. Not the darkspawn.” A short and tense pause later Justice spoke “She’s not listening to reason.” Anders looked at him. “Thank you, Warden Obvious. We couldn’t have guessed.” Darrian was close to giving up, as he saw Sigrun waving her hand in front of her face, indicating that the former Dalish Keeper probably has a few loose screws. “Listen… At least let us help you find your sister!” Justice turned his head towards Darrian before Velanna could answer. “This woman has murdered countless innocent people. Why should we help her?” “Why, because she’s a looker!” Anders answered in the commander’s stead, adding a whistle to his words “I bet her sister is just as pretty as she is…” seeing the disapproving gazes of both his companions and Velanna, he cleared his throat. “Oh, I mean darkspawn. Bad. Grrr!” A disgusted frown later Velanna turned back to Darrian. “You think I can’t manage to find her on my own?” her question was an open challenge. Darrian – despite the tales of his reckless heroism – knew when to retreat from a fight. “Well, good luck with that then. Sorry for bothering you.” He turned his back but before they left he looked back at Velanna. “I found this on a Hurlock I killed.” he handed the small trinket over to her. “But I guess it’s just another of my lies on the behest of my human masters.”

Talking with Velanna took more out of him than he thought. All of them were quiet on the way back to Vigil’s Keep, knowing very well that they might have to return with a bigger party if the disturbances with the caravans keep going. Darrian had many other things on his plate he wanted to pay attention to, especially after getting rid of the conspirators. He couldn’t wait to get back to the solitude of his quarters, his work only interrupted by the sudden head-butt from Ser Pounce-a-lot, or an occasional report. He wanted to explore the forlorn silverite mine they found not too far away from Velanna’s camp.

From a short distance between the commander and the rest of the team, Anders also counted the things he had to organise in case he finds an opportunity to take his leave. The ghoul’s dead, opaque eyes and apparent insanity haunted him. He never wanted to die like that. Not today, not tomorrow, not some thirty-or-so years later. He was also thinking about what else did Darrian hide from his new recruits? He overheard Justice and Darrian having a conversation about death, and how different it was for spirits and that Justice thought mortals should rather focus on things that they have in common instead on what divides them. Darrian’s bitter bark of laughter broke even the mage’s heart. “I wish it would be that easy. I’d love to live in a world where things worked that way.” At that moment Anders’ anger vanished…okay, not vanished, he just decided to shove it back to the depths of his mind. He again felt the attraction blooming and a little pity too. He decided to go and ask Darrian about the things that weighed him down, maybe ask him about his plans as well. Escape routes and all could be easily mapped if they were running around the Keep and its vicinity.

After they returned, Darrian went to talk to Nathaniel and Seneschal Varel about their findings, and to organize a bigger troop to return to investigate the mines. Anders went back to his quarters long with Sigrun, who really wanted to return to the book she began to read before they went out. Before they could enter the courtroom, the messenger stopped them. “Commander, there’s a letter for you! It seems… Urgent!” Darrian cast an apologetic glance at his companions then released them to their own duties before taking the letter from the messenger. Thanking her, he retreated back to his quarters to read in peace. But the contents left him in a state which was anything but peaceful.

* * *

Note: In case you wonder how "my" Darrian looks like: [Warden1](https://sta.sh/0npdwn5mbk1), [Warden2](https://sta.sh/01h9320p6ok)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay cuddles. Because I'm a cuddlemonster. Everyone has their favourite overused tropes I guess...
> 
> Up next: Darrian visits his old home in Denerim to attend a funeral. Anders is going with him, creating opportunity for the family to assume a whole lot of things about the Warden-Commander and his mage companion...


	5. Ending and Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests.

Author's Note:

I really had no idea that this story was so bad. I sincerely apologize for the people who invested time into reading it, and was probably hoping for a new chapter, but got this instead. I will get to the summary of how the rest of the story was planned out, so I hope I won't leave you guys in a cliffhanger but there's just something I need to add before I go:

I kind of lost my muse with this fanfic. It gained very little - if any - interest, and I don't know why... or more precisely I only have my gut telling me "'cause it sucks". Ohwell, shit happens I guess. 

I'm also working on another fanfiction I plan to see to its completion (if life won't throw lemons at me in that sense) so if -by any chance or miracle - you liked this one and love to read long-ass walls of text with hell of a lot happening in one chapter, here's the link to [Another Warden's Fall.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893568/chapters/42239894)

It also begins and spends a few chapters in Awakening, then transits into DA2, and will be dealing with the mage-templar conflict on both sides because REVOLUTION! ahem. Featuring both Anders and Darrian (as a side character only) from this fic, and my own customized mage warden Graeme Amell (and to appeal to a wider range of readers, some Fenris/Male Hawke as well).

Now to wrap up this steaming pile of mess with a short summary of how I planned the draft:

The Actual Chapter 5:

Darrian gets a note from Denerim informing him about his father's passing, and of course it hits him a bit hard. He suspends all ongoing investigations and other shiz he's doing, and packs up to go home to the funeral. Anders is worried about him, and offers to escort him through his journey. Darrian accepts and the two of them leave Vigil's Keep to seneschal Varel and Nathaniel's care. Shianni and Soris are happy to see their cousin despite the gloomy nature of their meeting. Anders feels like an intruder. Darrian of course blames himself for not taking time to spend with his family while he could, and ends up crying a river under the old tree where Anders finds him and tries his best to give some kind of comfort. They stay for a few days, but eventually duty calls them back to the Vigil. Darrian calls for Anders one night, wanting to thank him, but they end up sleeping together. It becomes a repeating occurence, but none of them dares to call it a "relationship". Not yet. Not while Darrian keeps on mentally lashing himself for cheating on Zevran.  

Chapter 6:

Our heroes go back to the Wending Wood, to check on the abandoned silverite mines, and there they meet the Architect, who casts a sort of a spell on them and sends them to the Fade, while taking Darrian's body to experiment his own version of the Grey Warden's Joining ritual. Darrian runs around in the nightmares of his friends, seeing their worst experiences and memories, but after saving them, gets lost in his own nightmare. Velanna returns, finds her sister for only a brief time before she slips away from her, and leads her to the holding cell of Darrian's companions. Seranni gives the key to the cells to Nathaniel, and the party breaks out from the darkspawn prison, like in the game. They can't seem to find Darrian however and it makes Anders a bit antsy. After finding the Architect's notes they follow the trail into a lab of sorts to find a huge cocoon on one of the walls, holding what looks like the corpse of their esteemed leader. Anders tears the cocoon open and pulls Darrian out from the goo inside it, that was there to preserve him and keep him alive, but the commander seems to be dead. (He's not but close, and his mind is still in the Fade.)  After a long and unnecessarily overdramatic scene of trying to wake the elf up, Anders uses his electricity trick as some sort of last-resort defibrillator. And it works!

Chapter 7:

After the incident with the Architect, Darrian has a sort-of breakdown and is unable to do his duties as Warden-Commander. King Alistair gets news of his illness and comes to visit. Darrian asks him for a favour, namely to let him return Vigil’s Keep and the arling of Amaranthine to its rightful owner: Nathaniel Howe. Alistair refuses at first, then decides to get some information about Nathaniel at least before making the final decision, and in the end, he agrees to give back part of Amaranthine to Nate, if he accepts it. (Fun fact, my in-game ending for Nathaniel mentioned that after so many heroic deeds he done, he got part of the arling back, which he gave away to his sister Delilah, and his nephew. He is the real hero in this story, I tell you.)  Anders in the meantime is trying very hard to cover for Darrian, telling various lies about the source of his mysterious "illness", that slowly comes back to bite him in the arse. The faithful companions drag their commander out to the battle of Amaranthine, hoping that he's capable of thinking straight.

Chapter 8:

The battle of Amaranthine, and the return to the remains of Vigil’s Keep. The building can be restored, but Darrian’s faith in himself is in ruins. Nathaniel is 100% done with everyone’s bullshit, and he gives a little reality-check to his commander as well. The work to restore the arling has begun, but our heroes have to list their losses. Talk about overdoing the angst...

Chapter 9:

Anders makes a hard decision. Since Darrian is seemingly unable to choose between him and his past love, the mage makes the choice instead. Darrian begs him to change his mind, and Anders almost gives in, but then Darrian goes away one night never to return, and that signs the end of their romance for good. Not to mention the Orlesian Wardens, who replace Darrian and make Anders get rid of Ser Pounce-a-lot, then even the Circle asking him to return there and teach the apprentices... Well, time to head to port for the next ship to Kirkwall Anders. It'll be good, trust me...

I even found one of the corniest 80's break-up songs for this chapter. Thank the Maker I'll never get to actually write it.

Chapter 10:

As it was in the previous chapter, Anders leaves for Kirkwall, Sigrun disappears one night mumbling something about the Calling, and Oghren is just grumpy as usual. Nathaniel feels like he's the only one actually standing his ground, but after he's being treated like crap by the new boss, he has enough as well. He never leaves the Wardens' ranks though, not officially, but he's always a little bit more than willing to leave Vigil's Keep for a possibly dangerous expedition or two. After a rumour about a lost thaig somewhere in the Free Marches, he volunteers with a small group of Wardens to investigate. And the rest is a quest in DA2.

 

Chapter 11:

An epilogue of sorts, with a vomit-inducigly corny letter from Darrian to Zevran, and the latter banging his head to a wall in Antiva, cursing that emo son-of-a-nug.

 

I also had some sort of sequels planned, but I'll probably never write them, so I include them here:

 

\- "Hail to the Crow King": (There's probably another fic with this title out there, but ohwell...)

Zevran’s tale of what he did in Antiva, and how he became the leader of the Crows. Starts before Awakening, and goes parallel with it, and DA2's events (Remember that he had a cameo there?). After years of not knowing what's going on with Darrian, only rumours, Zevran finally decides to move on with his own life, though in the beginning, he misses his Warden very much. But one letter was enough to send a rogue flock of Crows after Darrian, so Zevran wouldn't want to risk another. He succeeds in whatever he was up to with the Crows, and long years later gets an unexpected visitor. Cheesy fluff and some disappointments.

\- From the Pedestal to the Pit

A sad tale of the not-so glorious end of the “Hero of Ferelden”. Forgotten and alone, Darrian fights his way to Antiva, to confront his lost love, only to find out that Zevran has moved on years ago. Connected to both this fic and “Hail to the Crow King”. Darrian’s life ends as it began: In the slums, being a nobody despite all his good deeds. Major sadness warning, but it has a sort-of happy end: Alistair and Nathaniel Howe appear out of nowhere and drag Darrian's sorry arse back to the Wardens- or what's left of them after the events of Inquisition. I have yet to play that game. Also, Darrian may or may not found the cure for the Calling. He's been to the far away uncharted territories as well... (According to lore, the HoF was going off the map for some reason I haven't look up yet.) Or it may be Darrian's brain in delirium while he waits for the last beat of his heart, lying in a pool in the Alienage of Antiva City, we'll never know... :P

Also various one-shots, but I'll might try my luck with those, so I won't include their summaries here.

So, bye... I guess.

 


End file.
